


Mockerphenia: Illegal Attraction

by KiriAsakura



Series: Modern Thilbo/Richartin Couples [24]
Category: Inspector George Gently, Svengali (Film 2013), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit RPF, bagginshield - Fandom, richartin - Fandom, svengali - Fandom
Genre: 50s Greasers, 50s Music, 60s music, Alternate Universe - Bikers, Alternate Universe - British, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Bikers, Bisexual Character, Bisexuality, Black Leather, Britain in the 60s, British Character, British English, British Invasion, British Slang, British bangs, Developing Relationship, Drugs, Gang Violence, Gay, Gay Bashing, Gay Character, Gay Male Character, Geordie accent, Greaser Sherlock Holmes, Greasers, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Homosexuality, Illegal Activities, Illegal Homosexuality, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, LSD, Leather Jackets, Leather Kink, London, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Marijuana, Mod, Motorcycle club, Motorcycles, Musicians, North England, Old-Fashioned, Outlaw, Past Relationship(s), Past Tense, Period-Typical Homophobia, Platonic Relationships, Psychotropic Drugs, References to Drugs, Rival Relationship, Rival Sex, Rivalry, Rock and Roll, Rocker, Secret Relationship, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Sexual Attraction, Sexual Tension, bagginshield, cafe racer, gang motorcylists, gay kiss, mods, music bands, rockers, rockers vs mods, vinyl records
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22345792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiriAsakura/pseuds/KiriAsakura
Summary: The rebel rocker Ricky Deeming has been dejected for a while due to the tragic events that involved him in Durham in the spring of 1964. His life as a café racer biker and rock n' roll are the only things that really make sense of his existence, but the ghost of that past forces him to start a new life in London, where he will soon meet a natural rival, a mood mod named Don Martin, owner of a vinyl records store, who will be immediately and strangely attracted. Thus, begins the story of a relationship banned in England in the mid-60's, when homosexuality was still illegal in Britain, an exciting love-hate relationship between a rocker and a mod.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Richard Armitage & Martin Freeman, Richard Armitage/Martin Freeman, Ricky Deeming/Billy Lister, Ricky Deeming/Don
Series: Modern Thilbo/Richartin Couples [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/267553
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Running away, like a rolling stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rebel rocker Ricky Deeming has been dejected for a while due to the tragic events that involved him in Durham in the spring of 1964. His life as a café racer biker and rock n’ roll are the only things that really make sense of his existence, but the ghost of that past forces him to start a new life in London, where he will soon meet a natural rival, a mood mod named Don Martin, owner of a vinyl records store, who will be immediately and strangely attracted. Thus, begins the story of a relationship banned in England in the mid-60’s, when homosexuality was still illegal in Britain, an exciting love-hate relationship between a rocker and a mod.

**London, England, February 1966**

It had been only a few months since the rebel rocker _Geordie_ , Richard “Ricky” Deeming, leader of the prestigious motorcycle gang known as _the Durham Defenders_ , had decided to settle in the capital of the country, England, and the entire United Kingdom, fleeing from the crimes that had involved him not long ago. Exactly two years had elapsed since the killings of two important members of his gang had happened tragically, on almost immediate dates of each other.

Things had taken place in very strange and tense circumstances in too little time, the year 1964 had undoubtedly been one of the worst of his life, except for those already distant years of his puberty when the second great war had devastated Europe, even reaching to his locality, to the north of England, and affecting his family, belonging to a silent generation, after the lost generation, who had lived through the first great war, silent generation, always bending over what society imposed, a generation without voice, as in present times the new young rebels without a cause used to call the older people.

In the middle of 1965 Ricky had decided to leave his hometown and move to live in London, all thanks to the fact that in the midst of all the tragedy that occurred in 1964 luck had knocked on his door and by mere chance of fate, a relative had just died and had inherited him a very small flat to the northwest of London, in the metropolitan area, where he could live alone from now on. Although in Durham, Ricky had already lived alone for years since his teens, when after the World War II he had been forced to become a true man immediately after puberty.

Currently, in the mid-60s, in that year of 1966, Ricky was 36 years old, but his spirit and his entire energy remained like those of a young man of just over 20 years. He felt 25.

It was a cold February afternoon, his birthday would be during the next summer and that excited him and worries him at the same time, it would be his 37th birthday and he had considered that at that age maybe he should already meditate on what maybe it was time to change his lifestyle a little and become a different man, and perhaps begin to form an own family, like most men of his age. Although, to tell the truth, he had always been a rebel without a cause, a pioneer rocker in style, a lone wolf dressed in black leather jacket that always imposed his somewhat aggressive masculinity and who slept with as many girls as he could, without never have any commitment to any of them. Even in his thirties, he didn't want to tie himself to anyone, at least not yet. In addition, love was something that he had never really felt for anyone, however, on countless occasions he had felt great attractions and fixations for several people for years since he had had his first sexual encounter, when he was just a teenager.

It had not been easy to move from a region as far away from London as Durham, far north of England, in the cold coasts of Britain, and it had not been easy to get used to London life, much less in just a few months of having installed there, a city that turned out to be much busier than he could imagine. London was a metropolis always crowded with people, nothing compared to the few people who barely passed through the town where he had lived all his life and in which almost all the inhabitants were known.

But as soon as he had inherited that very small flat to the northwest of London, Ricky had not thought for a second to reject the opportunity, because in addition the small inheritance had arrived just at the right time, since it had happened just when he felt greatly cornered in his own environment, pointed out by the people of his town who judged him unfairly since the tragic incident of the death of his companions, since although his innocence had been proven entirely, many still believed that he had been the real cause, despite the real perpetrator had already been caught and sentenced. However, people really believed that Ricky was indirectly guilty because of the rapid rumor that, since the late young Billy Lister had shown his love interest for Ricky, it was likely that he and Ricky had really had a homosexual relationship, and sodomy was illegal in England, and harshly pursued by law, as it had been throughout the United Kingdom for centuries ago.

Although none of that was true, Ricky and Billy never had any sexual relationship, not even romantic. While Billy finally revealed his feelings for him in front of his entire gang, they had never been more than good friends who began to know each other. But despite his total innocence, Ricky felt increasingly cornered by the harassment of the people of his town. Even the members of his motorcycle gang had gradually lost their respect for him. At first, the boys had not made him notice too much, but gradually they showed their contempt for Ricky, the _flamboyant_ , the extravagant, the _inverted_ , a repulsive closet homosexual, or maybe an AC / DC, it didn't matter, any of those things that Ricky could be, it was something illegal and unpleasant in the eyes of the gang and society, especially when they thought that Ricky had fooled them all and that he had shielded all this time his exact sexual preferences under his rough appearance, his black hair slicked with wax using a Quiff hairstyle and his imposing black leather jacket. That was undoubtedly what the boys thought and most detested, they felt disgusted and betrayed, although it was not their fault, society had always educated them to be intolerant of what was not heteronormative. The boys in the gang were almost convinced that there had been an illegal relationship between Ricky and Billy, even if it wasn't true, they were convinced since that moment when Billy had given a quick kiss on Ricky's cheek in front of everyone, at that café of the Italian Roberto, after the damn dispute unleashed by the other deceased boy, Lawrence. Ricky knew then that the members of his gang no longer saw him as their leader, and he was not willing to endure their austerity, especially since the main reason for keeping a gang of motorcyclists together was precisely that, being united. He was not a homosexual, not even a damn AC/DC (that means a bisexual, who likes both sides), he had never had any fling with Billy and had never been interested in any other man. The idea had never even crossed his mind. Even he was never sure about why his high school companions called him using nicknames like "flamboyant" or extravagant. At that time, Ricky never thought that "Flamboyant" had been a pejorative nickname to describe him as a _queer_ , but rather because of his taste for speed on motorcycles and the then growing rock n 'roll.

By mid-1965, it had not been easy to make the decision to leave his valuable gang of motorcyclists, which he had founded for just over 15 years ago. He had been the link in that gang, he had seen the rest of the boys get integrated, but things were really getting more and more intense, because not long after Ricky had finished healing himself from the burns in his neck, which the vengeful criminal, Billy's father, had provoked him, Ricky had begun to be attacked by hooded suspects in the middle of the night several times, at the risk of making him crash his motorcycle and make him skid on the asphalt, and therefore, make him die in the same way that cruelly Billy had been crashed that night in April 1964.

Since the incident in which he had been ambushed by Billy's father to seek revenge, Ricky had developed an intense paranoia, every time he was alone in his workshop at night, he felt the inevitable fear that the damn gangster would suddenly appear again in his mechanic workshop, pointing a gun at the back of his neck and then tying him as a crucifixion and this time effectively achieving his task of burning his entire face with the torch. Ricky had some nightmares with those terrible scenes for several nights. Moreover, although he had not witnessed the deaths of Billy and Lawrence, his mind machined his tragic fates in his nightmares.

Everything got worse when almost all the people in the town began to harass him, and even more so when the harassment became increasingly wild and frequent.

Besides, the blame for what had happened to Billy, that boy so talented and sensitive that was just beginning to live, didn't leave him alone either. Certainly, his tragic death had not been his fault directly, but perhaps indirectly, as people pointed out, since although he had not wanted to admit it, Billy had really been in love with him all this time and precisely because of that homosexual attraction, Bill had been killed. His murder had probably been caused more by homophobia than by the revenge of having been the target of the unfortunate flirtation of Lawrence's girlfriend. The girl had so far ignored Billy's sexual preferences and his crush on Ricky. Lawrence, ignoring that too, had unleashed the fury of his jealousy when he saw the flirtation of his girlfriend towards the unfortunate gay boy. That same night, the furious Lawrence caused Billy to skid his motorcycle on the road. Everything had been the cause of an absurd misunderstanding, but nothing could be done to remedy it.

 _"If only I had protected Billy that night ... he would be still alive"_ Ricky lamented himself again and again since then.

For that reason, Ricky felt greatly sorry for that. He didn't want to pass near Billy's house, and every time he came to spot his young mother nearby, his grief increased much more. And even at night, he sometimes even felt that Billy's ghost could be hanging around his house and neighborhood. Although perhaps everything was, after all, only a product of his disturbed imagination.

But his fraternal love for Billy was still intact. Billy had been like his little brother. And so, since his death he had decided to embroider his name, "Billy," on his black leather jacket, which he always wore. That would be the best representation of his memory.

Despite all the calamities, in the end Ricky's luck had changed, and a year after all those bad events, Ricky had arrived in London.

Right now, he was in the famous Ace Café. Only a few minutes ago he had arrived on his motorcycle after rolling down the highway in the metropolitan area for a while in the morning.

Ricky still could not believe that after having been running for so long with his motorcycle gang, leading them, he was now far away from them and alone. He liked being a loner, he had always liked to be like that, he was a free man, just like the air that hit his face every time he traveled the roads with his motorcycle and felt his spirit merge with the spirit of the machine, but now that his thoughts were torturing him so much, Ricky felt that maybe he really wished he could have someone's company to chat, get advice, or at least just joke and share likes and hobbies. But despite having moved several months ago, he had not yet met someone really relevant in the city until that time.

Certainly Ace Café had become the favorite starting point, goal and meeting point for most of the black leather jacket rockers in the city for years, and it was evident that he would constantly meet many of them each once he approached the place, but he preferred not to talk much with them, because he still didn't have the courage, and because he was a little embarrassed that they noticed that it was a foreigner from the northwestern part of England. Besides, his _geordie_ accent gave him away completely, even though he sometimes tried hard to make it sound a little more Londoner. He knew it didn't work for him, and he must even admit that it bothered him greatly, so he would soon give up on it. He just didn't want to pretend to be something he wasn't.

That afternoon the cold was increasing every hour, although the cold in London was lower than what he was used to feeling on the cold coasts of Durham, so he adjusted his scarf well after he finished parking his motorcycle outside the establishment. He looked a little at the panorama, he realized that, as always, the place was quite crowded, rockers like him, although not crammed, and after taking a brief breath, he decided to enter the place, find a seat and order a coffee.

He sat at the bar, which was not as demanding as the other tables. That made him glad and brought him down a little at the same time, because he could be alone with himself, again, like every day, and because at the same time he also wanted to find new allies. His mind right now was a duality. For now, he was a simple solitary biker, but his motorcyclist spirit demanded him to join soon a group. Ricky was aware that becoming the leader of a motorcycle gang again, and especially in London, was not going to be very possible, much less immediately, he was a stranger there, a foreign with _geordie_ accent, the new guy in the city, but he felt ready to soon become a prospect of a motorcycle club in the capital as soon as he had the best chance. The problem was that every time he tried to get close to others, he didn't know how to do it. And for now he did not want to get into trouble, because he knew well that treating rockers like him should always be taken with caution or bravado, depending on the intention, and either option could lead to quarrels with blows, and with their current disturbances and his foreign position was what he least wanted.

Being a weekday, the site was less crowded than it usually was on weekends. Ricky thought that after all that was the best, for the moment.

When his coffee was served, Ricky couldn't help getting very melancholic, even more than usually. His gaze remained on his coffee that he was drinking little by little, at the time he sometimes turned to see how people attended the place. What most caught his attention inevitably were the pretty girls who entered or left the place, especially those who wore mini-skirts, which had quickly become fashionable since the beginning of the decade, and that made them look very good their legs. Despite being a meeting place for groups of rockers, ordinary people also entered the place, without any particular style, and even occasionally some _mods_ approached, those guys who just started the decade, had created a rivalry with the rockers, ton-up boys or anyone who wore black leather clothes and insisted on listening to rock n 'roll, just like Ricky did. It had never been possible to explain well why precisely that rivalry between both groups had been created, but it all seemed that in London that rivalry was much more marked than what he had noticed in Durham. Despite the fact that since his arrival in London he had already witnessed several quarrels and disputes between both groups, until now Ricky had not been a true witness of too much violence in these quarrels and had not been involved in any, which of course was much better, since he had not yet been able to overcome his paranoia and did not feel like fighting, except for trifles. Or perhaps because he was 36 years old, he felt that those quarrels between urban tribes seemed to him to be somewhat childish.

Although these self-called _mods_ had so far remained outside the establishment, they constantly arrived in groups, mounted on their scooters, outside the Ace Café, only watching the rockers who also went in groups with a challenging look. Ricky always noticed the tension between both urban tribes. Ricky imagined that it was very possible that at any moment he had to face one of those **mods** , who in his opinion looked a bit ridiculous on their scooters full of ornaments and mirrors, quite the opposite of the cafe racer motorcycles that were always about take away what hindered, in the way of making them lighter and faster. Ricky couldn't even avoid feeling a certain dislike for that contrast that represented them, the fact of always being well dressed in tailor suits and well groomed, and trying to show the opposite on the outside, a brave and provocative attitude, against the police but especially against motorcyclist rockers, just because they hated that they were always dressed in black leather, and that they insisted on continuing to listen to rock n 'roll from the United States instead to listen to the growing modern British music. The Mods hated the rockers for considering them old-fashioned, and the rockers hated the mods for always trying to show the appearance of “pretty” boys with elegant suits tailored, when they were mostly supermarket cashiers or simple office assistants.

While Ricky had not finished yet drinking his coffee, and while watching all those "pretty" mods out the window, he inevitably began to scrutinize again in his past and what his life had been since he had memory. Since 1964 he had felt much more melancholic than ever, and now beginning in 1966 his grief did not diminish. That made him realize that his sensitivity was very vulnerable, and he hated it, because for a rebel rocker, a former leader of a gang of outlaws bikers, as he always had to show a rough appearance, melancholy was something that should be left to the women, and the effeminate _camps_ , _poofs_ , it was an idea that was deeply rooted in his head and that ruminated his thoughts practically all the time, but sometimes inevitably just thinking about the term “poof” returned Billy's memory, and that made him more and more feel like in an infinite loop, a cycle of thoughts and emotions that seemed never to end, because no matter how hard he wanted to look outside or how much he lamented, the life of his young companion and friend Billy, 15 years younger than him, would never be returned, and such once the ghost of his memory would accompany him all his life. He deserved it, it was what he thought, he deserved to be dejected by his sad memory, he deserved that and much more.

After a short while, when his coffee cup already contained only one last drink, he suddenly remembered that British film, still in black and white, that had been released in 1961, _The Leather boys_ , and which even contained some filmed scenes precisely in that prestigious Ace Café, came to his mind. Ricky had seen that movie in that same year at a movie theatre in another city, in Newcastle. He remembered that he was very enthusiastic in that specific year because it was the most prosperous time for his gang, since in that year several prospects had been integrated, including the deceased -and ominous- Lawrence, and he remembered how he had gone with emotion to see that film, whose plot left him a little speechless, since it unexpectedly addressed the issue of homosexuality, implicated in the two male characters in the film, members of the plot's motorcycle gang, who fought against their homosexual preferences and their mutual attraction trying to hide it from the world, although without success in some way, to be discovered by the wife of the protagonist and leader of the gang. At that time Ricky really felt great uncertainty because he never expected to see a rockers movie, like that, addressing a highly controversial issue, especially since being a bloody _queer_ in the UK was illegal, and because in the eyes of everyone, society and religion, being a bloody queer had always been something bad, unnatural. He himself refused that absurd and disgusting idea of having an affair with another man, although he never admitted that to tell the truth that aspect of the film never caused him much rejection, only it had been somewhat disconcerting, weird. Although indeed it caused him some conflict, but it was perhaps because, like the rest of the population, the idea of rejecting homosexuality was very instilled in his mind. The movie didn't seem bad at all despite that detail. But for several days he was wondering if any member of his gang or someone close would ever turn out to be a homosexual. He never imagined that one of them would fall in love with him some time later.

Thinking about that past aversion reminded him of Billy and that made him feel very bad about himself. He couldn't stop thinking about Billy and remembering how good he was, and he couldn't stop thinking that maybe he hadn't been able to blame Billy for being a homosexual and falling in love with him.

It was only a few days ago that he had sometimes even hovered in his head to wonder if at some point he had yielded to Billy's sexual interest. Would he have dared to have something with him? Had he dared to maintain a homosexual relationship with him, even if it was just out of curiosity? Even if it was just to have sex on one occasion? He did not like boys, he had never liked or attracted even once, the mere idea of imagining joining his naked body to the body of another human being with genitals similar to his, disturbed him. He had definitely always liked girls, although he couldn't take the idea from his head that Billy was a "beautiful soul, a sensitive boy, an artist" that anyone could fall in love with. He also continually considered that perhaps Billy's gentle personality could have changed his whole mind, although he still had a hard time admitting it. But he would never know, Billy was dead and his body was now well buried in a cemetery in Durham, miles away from the Ace Café where he was now.

As a cruel ironic joke of life, at that precise moment in the background it sounded the rock n’ roll song _"I miss you so"_ by Dennis Binder.

When Ricky finished his coffee, he ordered another one, and while it was being served, he decided to place a coin in the jukebox and play another song, one that encouraged him more. " _I'm gonna roll n 'rock,"_ played by Eddie Zack & Cousin Richie, started playing, it had been a good choice.

…………………………..

When it was completely dark outside, Ricky decided to leave the place. He thought he had had enough damn coffee and now he needed something really stronger. A little alcohol might be the best, and maybe he could even be lucky to find a girl, flirt with her and even have sex. It had been months since he had slept with any, and after such a bad streak it was something that his body needed too. Just thinking about it even suddenly made him feel a little exasperated. The idea of having sex with a certain London girl would be resonating in his head from now until he achieved his task. He didn't care if it was even one of those _mod_ or _hippie_ girls, he just wanted to fuck any of them.

While outside, Ricky took his motorcycle and soon rolled down a part of Abbey Road until he lost sight of the streets. He toured the city, it was still difficult to find a shorter way to get from the Ace Café to his house, which was on the other side of the city. In Durham he never had to go too far to get from one point to another, nor did have to avoid too many people. _"Welcome to London"_ he thought to himself. So much hustle stunned him.

At one point his path turned to Camden, and when he arrived in Camden Town, he stopped to buy some cigarettes and some supplies. He parked his motorcycle and made purchases at a small mini-market. Leaving the establishment, he recalled that he had a couple of marijuana cigarettes in his pocket and then decided to smoke a little in a nearby park, trying to be in the loneliest possible spot. Ricky had used marijuana often since the past decade, and since the events that had brought him down so badly in 1964, smoking marijuana had been one of the things that had helped him calm his tortuous thoughts a bit. And he was grateful to have found reliable sellers of weed in London since he had moved.

While in the center of that park, Ricky smoked a joint under a tree, something near one of the lamps that dimly lit the night. The place at that time was practically empty, but still open to the public. While he smoked the joint, he watched for a moment the stars in the dark sky. He was finally having a moment of relaxation on that day, in which especially the ghost of Billy's memory and the relevant facts of his past had overwhelmed him much more than usual. And the marijuana was getting into effect little by little. When Ricky finished smoking the joint, he decided to smoke the other one, hurrying to finish it soon so he wouldn't have to be seen by any policeman who noticed. Nobody saw him. Then he left the park, walked a few streets towards the point where he had left his motorcycle well parked and started the engine, but as he passed by Iverness Street, his attention suddenly turned to a premise, whose sign shone brightly in neon colors: _“Don's records shop”_

The store was small, but it had a couple of large windows in which various posters of famous musicians stood out from within. Ricky immediately realized that it was a vinyl records store, and that excited him, since he had always wondered how good the music stores were in London, and during his very short stay in the city this was the first time he met such a striking one. In addition, Ricky was eager to get some vinyl records of the classic blues, jazz and rock n 'roll songs.

After parking his motorcycle outside the store, Ricky decided to enter, and headed for the place. Upon entering the store, he realized that he had to go down some stairs to get to the real store, and so he went down to that lower floor. As soon as he had entered the store, he noticed the background music, _"Green Onions"_ , an instrumental composition recorded in 1962 by Booker T. & the M.G.'s, which he liked since he had appeared on the radio.

And when Ricky stepped on the last step, he saw the one who was undoubtedly in charge of the place, a moderately young man, of short stature, blond and dressed a bit extravagant. The blond immediately noticed his presence and looked up at Ricky.

"Oh, you didn't ring the bell ... you have to ring the bell whenever you enter, mate, the sign on the wall specifies," said the manager a little stern when he saw Ricky enter, pointing towards the sign that was on the wall in the middle of the stairs. The quirky shop manager had immediately realized that Ricky was a rocker, and also a very attractive one, with a distinguished and abundant slicked black hair that he rarely saw. The tone of his voice had sounded a little strict, but Ricky was not moved by it, since he still did not know the ways of speaking in London and because the marijuana already had him quite relaxed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see it," Ricky said in response to the blond manager, smiling pleasantly. The blond's gaze pointed to the rocker still with some severity, as if he were wanting to scold him like a child.

Ricky moved impulsively to the blond, who was at the cash register site. Neither looked away from the other. The blond corresponded his smile.

"Oh, anyway, I'm sorry mate, but we're almost closing. Come back tomorrow if you want," said the blond, somewhat grim, trying now to ignore the rocker and return his attention to the paperwork that was organizing on his desk a while ago.

"Come on, just allow me 10 minutes. I guess you close when the clock is 20:00 o'clock, and there are still 10 minutes left," Ricky said as he pointed to the clock hanging on the wall.

The blond in charge of the store gave a brief sigh that seemed more a grumble, and then smiled a little. Ricky watched him for a moment, realizing that his hair was really very blond, shiny gold, and that he was dressed in a slightly extravagant style. At that time, under the growing effects of marijuana, he did not know if the store manager was a mod or a hippie, since the blond's shirt had a quirky print with a kind of colorful flowers and also used sideburns. Anyway, Ricky had never paid attention to the clothes of the other groups that were oblivious to rockers, like him.

“Ok, but no more after 20:00, okay? Err...and... are you looking for something special?" The blond said and inquired, that in fact he wore a characteristic mod style in all his attire and appearance and for which the blue-eyed rocker newcomer was immediately his rival, but a client was a client and he had to attend him despite his ideological differences. Besides, Ricky really seemed very handsome, and he couldn't deny that to himself at all.

"Yes, I'm looking for some Jazz, Blues, American Rock n 'roll," said Ricky, he already felt quite subject to the effects of marijuana, which he had experienced many times in years. The psychoactive effects of the weed were already present in his body.

The blond gave another brief sigh and gave a wry smile.

"Oh, I guessed it, it's to be expected of a rocker," he said acidly, mockingly, "by the way, you're not from here, right? I notice a _geordie_ accent ... you're maybe from ... let me guess ... Yorkshire, for example?..." the blond inquired curiously. Ricky saw his own face reflected in the pink-inked round glasses worn by the blond in charge.

"Haha no, but you guessed right, I'm foreign, from the north of England, but not from Yorkshire, but from Durham. I think my accent is still very obvious, haha," said Ricky, giggling a little at the end. It had been something involuntary, but nothing rare after smoking -so much- weed.

"Wow, how interesting. I never thought I would have a biker rocker from Durham in my shop. I mean, several rockers have come sometimes, but usually they are from here, London. Besides, I've never made conversations with them," said the blond sincere. Through his pink-inked glasses he could not notice that Ricky's eyes had reddened due to marijuana, but the blue of his eyes stood out much more and that he could notice it well, although it was not strange for him, although not it seems so, he was in fact also under the gradual effects of a drug. The blond had swallowed a piece of blotting paper with lysergic acid, LSD, a couple of hours ago, and the effects were still stimulating his brain.

 _"This bastard is quite handsome, much. I like him quite a lot to have a “thing", a <<_ _rough trade >>"_ the blond told himself in his thoughts, doped with the psychedelic drug, which caused him to appreciate the attractiveness of Ricky even much more than he would have appreciated without being under the effects of acid. However, the LSD did not make him lose consciousness completely nor had he reached a high point of euphoria at that time, since he had only taken half the dose, so he was not going to prove that he had liked Ricky, at least he wasn't going to show it too much or in a rash way. In addition, the blond in charge was a _mod_ , and any rocker, no matter who, was therefore his natural rival, and added that he was a moody guy, he was in no way going to show his immediate sexual interest in Durham's handsome outsider. He had met him just a few minutes ago. But he could still try and provoke the attractive man a little.

While the blond was facing his own thoughts, gradually diffused by the psychedelic caused by acid, Ricky finally ventured to check a little of the vinyl records of one of the boxes, whose label put _rock n' roll_ , while laughing a little ironically.

"Haha, and I never imagined that there could be such a good music store in London and that I would find it on a night like this," Ricky said with a sideways smile. His hands, already without his black gloves, continued to explore inside the vinyl records box, and sometimes turned to see the blond, whose haircut that matched his sideburns was curious, because he did not remember seeing anyone who wore equal hair, or perhaps the weed he had just consumed did not make him realize at all that what really attracted him to that store manager was in the first instance precisely his beautifully golden hair. But Ricky made no comment about Don's appearance, and continued to explore the vinyls, although by that time the effects of marijuana were already slowing his perception of time, and little by little he was seeing everything else in a kind of slow motion.

"And ... are you looking for a specific band, musician or album?" inquired the blond.

“I already told you, blues, jazz, rock n 'roll, from past decades. I don’t feel very cool with this decade and I'm not really interested in the new music; I must say..." Ricky replied candidly. The articulation of his words sounded pretty good, although in his doped mind he felt that his tone of voice was probably sounding a little lower and slower

The blond gave a wry smile and looked at him with some dislike, letting out a short mocking giggle.

"Haha, as I said, it was to be assumed of a rocker, you all are always so outdated, all of you are never at the forefront," said the blond, still smiling mockingly. His arms suddenly crossed, adopting a position of presumption, the LSD was making more and more effect on him, a while ago he had eaten half of the paper with a drop of hallucinogenic acid so that it would take effect when he had closed his shop and was at home, it was just above the premises. But this attractive newcomer rocker had unexpectedly delayed his plans, and even at that moment, the clock was already marking 20:00 o'clock, which indicated that the 10 minutes requested by the dark-haired in a black leather jacket had finished, but neither of them had noticed, since both were distracted in what they observed, Ricky in the vinyl records box and Don in his handsome client. LSD increased his senses greatly anyway, and for that reason he also almost immediately realized that Ricky was emitting a strong smell of marijuana, which was perceived much more in his nose because of the lysergic acid that hyper-activated his brain, but noticing it did not displease him at all, since, although Don Martin preferred to consume LSD and amphetamines, he also smoked marijuana from time to time. Knowing that the handsome rocker was impregnated with the smell of that weed made him think that made him look much sexier. Don had not revealed it to the world and of course he was not going to do it from now on, since it was illegal in the United Kingdom, but the truth was that he had always assumed himself as a homosexual. And someone like Ricky, despite being a rocker, his natural rival, was the type of man he liked.

"Hey, you have good titles, mate," Ricky said, turning to see him for a moment and smiling mischievously. His eyes were redder due to cannabis, but they didn't affect his vision, at least not yet, and he soon continued to check the vinyls, including those of two other boxes.

"Haha, of course! My shop has everything, starting with the classics that rockers like you like so much. I am a mod, as I hope you have noticed already, but I try to have all kinds of music here. Years ago, I opened this store... and selective customers always come," explained the blond, who had realized that Ricky was not too young, and that he was probably the same age like him. Ricky had also realized that Don was probably living in his thirties, just like him, which made it a bit weird since most mods he had known in recent years were usually practically teenagers, but soon ceased to give importance to that detail

"And what's your name, friend _mod_?" asked the dark-haired, while returning his eyes to the blond, who was much shorter than he was, despite the fact that Don was wearing modern platform shoes.

The blond was inevitably excited to hear that the rocker was interested in knowing his name, and was also excited by the way he had asked, with that sensual tone of his voice, despite his _geordie_ accent, and with that affable smile. The LSD increased his emotion, and responded smiling also with coquetry for Ricky.

"Don Martin, they almost always call me only Don, and my last name... that doesn't matter now," explained the blond in response.

"Oh, so Don Martin, I like both names," said Ricky, who was undoubtedly even more relaxed now, he had smoked two joints in once after all. In the midst of his relaxation he felt more and more that the face of the store owner was extremely gentle, despite trying to look like a cocky. Don's face seemed sweet, as was his voice, unusual for a man over 30 years old. Ricky liked that contrast, although he still couldn't explain why.

"and your name…?" inquired the blond at last, with great interest.

"Ahh ... my name ...my name…" Ricky stammered, the smile on his face outlined more, for a moment he realized that he had just forgotten his name, but the trace of consciousness that still remained in him made him reprimand a little himself for having consumed two doses of cannabis for less than half an hour, and his brain tried to remember his name quickly, although his slow perception of things made him wonder if he was really thinking correctly. But despite his effort, he just couldn't remember his name at that moment. Ricky felt like a fool due to that, and that made him giggling more.

"Are you… Billy?" Don asked, pointing to the embroidery on the left sleeve of Ricky's jacket. Despite his drugged state, hearing the word "Billy" squeezed Ricky's heart for a moment, and perhaps that was what quickly returned his memory momentarily lost by the weed he had smoked.

"Ah, no..." Ricky muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"that says on your jacket..." insisted the blond, a little more formal.

"No, Billy was a friend ... who died. My name is ... Ricky ... that is, Richard ..." finally clarified the dark-haired, and then tried to return his attention to the vinyls in the box, by that time he had already found several titles that he was interested in buying and set them aside to ask about their price.

"Oh, I'm so sorry about your friend," Don said sincerely. Then he told himself to himself that Ricky's name suited a guy as attractive, tall and dark-haired and muscular as he was. At that moment the effects of LSD on him were causing synesthesia and that made him feel that he was _“savoring”_ Ricky's attractive face and athletic figure, and he licked his lips a little, although Ricky could not notice.

At that moment Don dared to gently put his right hand on Ricky's arm, which he kept searching through the vinyl records box.

"I'm interested in these, what is the price?" asked the rocker at last.

"Let's see ... Jerry Lee Lewis, Dennis Binder, Cliff Richard, The Everly Brothers, Red Smith, Gene Vincent ... don't you want something of Elvis?" the blond asked an ironic, really it was quite funny for him to know that the rockers liked the music of the past decade and he simply could not finish understanding them since all those musicians (except Cliff) were American and in this new decade very good British music was emerging. He was in trend with the modern, that made him a _mod_.

"No, I have all of Elvis, I think," Ricky replied, smiling with joy.

"Ah, then..." the blond muttered.

 _"Be-bop-a-Lula she's my baby doll ~ My baby doll, my baby doll ~"_ Ricky suddenly began to sing, he felt more euphoric, in his voice the rock n 'roll style was definitely well intoned, he was certainly a fan of it and also had a good voice, serious, manly and deep. Don felt that he could _"see"_ that serious and masculine voice of his, thanks to the synesthesia caused by his psychedelic perception, he could see it in a bright red tone that strangely changed its hue until it became a kind of purple, but since that song annoyed him a little for being always intoned by the rockers in the 50s, he couldn't help trying to irritate Ricky too.

"Hey, stop singing that shit!" the blond exclaimed at last.

Ricky laughed at his expression, could not detect well if Don was protesting because it really annoyed him or if he was trying to just provoke him, but in any case, he was amused. And marijuana increased his laughter more.

 _"Oh, Be-bop-a-Lula she's my baby doll"_ Ricky continued singing to annoy him. Don crossed his arms again and the expression on his face showed greater exasperation. And his gaze on Ricky became more challenging.

"Well, are you going to buy them or not? Cretin" the blond questioned out loud.

"Be-bop-a-Lula, you're my baby doll ~ ..." Ricky continued to sing a little more, he liked that song, he liked the rhythm, he liked to annoy the blond, and the weed made him respond slower and it also made him more euphoric.

"Pfft, shut up! Do you fucking buy them or not?" snapped the most annoyed blond, although his expression also denoted fun. In a way he liked that a rocker like Ricky annoyed him that way, maybe that was something masochistic on his part.

"How much?" Ricky inquired amused, releasing a slightly louder laugh. This was becoming a kind of competition to see who annoyed the other more.

"Let's see, they are outdated pieces so I sell you everything in ... let's see, 7 pounds," Don said again with some mockery, looking at Ricky defiantly still eager to exasperate him and start a fight with him, a fun fight he could use of pretext to touch him more.

"haha, 7 pounds? Is this a gold goods store, your majesty?" Ricky replied sardonic, while he looked for his wallet in a pocket of his jacket.

Don gave a brief sigh, with his mocking smile on his side and his hands inside the pockets of his perfectly ironed flared trousers in a blue tone, enjoying watching Ricky look a little awkwardly inside his pockets. Don liked very much that the rocker was so tall, especially since he was short. The moody blond could perceive that image as if he were tasting it on his palate, another effect of the synesthesia caused by the acid he had eaten. Inevitably he licked his lips again, something Ricky couldn't notice. For Don Martin, even the simple fact of observing every detail of his handsome client was a thousand times better than having enjoyed the effects of LSD alone in his room listening to avant-garde modern music on his new turntable until dawn, as he had planned.

"Well, take, _feely-omi_ ," Ricky said, extending a couple of five-pound bills that showed the Queen's face.

Hearing him call him that way, Don got even more excited, especially since he seemed extremely daring on the part of the rocker. No doubt Ricky must be a savage. He liked that even more. He thought that after all it would be fun to speak in slang with the handsome dark-haired man with blue eyes.

Don Martin received both bills, at that time he intentionally caused his hand to touch Ricky's hand a little, comparing their sizes. Ricky's hands were certainly bigger and seemed full of scars, which accentuated with his delusions. And the psychedelia in his brain, which by that time had already "freed" him from his ego, had made him feel as if his hand by briefly touching Ricky's had become one with his. He had a fleeting thought of how wonderful it might feel to share a kiss or even have sex with him under that effect, and as he imagined it the smile on his lips became more framed.

But Ricky was feeling more and more that everything became slower in his perception, and yet he had not been able to distinguish the suggestive and flirtatious smile of the blond, because at the same time everything seemed to happen in a second. It was an irony that the two were under the effect of drugs at that time and that several of the reactions of both were somewhat opposite. In addition, unlike Don, who totally had admitted himself as a _queer_ since he was very young, and that he already considered his rocker client _“to have a thing”_ (or potential sexual conquest), Ricky still did not even remotely consider having “a thing” with another man.

The blond headed back to the cash register and from there he took a change in coins to return it to Ricky.

"Take, 3 pounds back," Don said, extending the money. His hand briefly touched Ricky's hand again, which felt cold, but _"delicious."_ The sensation also _"smelled"_ wonderful, again the product of his synesthesia, covering that strong smell of marijuana that was still perceived in the dark-haired.

"Thanks, mate _mod_ ," Ricky said gratefully, while Don closed the cash register. At that moment they both realized that the clock was almost at 9:00 p.m.

"Oh, wow! We've already spent much more time than we should. Well, it's time to close ..." Don said, but before finishing his statement, to his surprise he realized that Ricky was boldly just placing one of the albums he had just bought on one of the record-player from the store. The music began to play just before Don exclaimed his scolding towards him.

"Hey! take your fucking hands off! How the fuck do you dare to play my valuable turntable without my consent? Damn you fucking _‘greaser’_! It's not a damn jukebox!" Don snapped exasperatedly, trying to reach the rocker and remove him from there.

Ricky just laughed a little, it was true that he felt remarkably more uninhibited because of the effect of marijuana, but he knew what he was doing and did not regret it, he wanted to play with Don to provoke him, and he also wanted to try his new vinyl right there. He was a rocker after all, a rebel of society, and such behavior was not strange in someone like him. He was an _outlaw_ , so no one could stop him from doing what he wanted.

"Hey, but your device is fantastic, precisely better than an old jukebox, come on, lend it to me for a little while, _feely-omi_ ," Ricky said mockingly.

"Stop that, now, you damn bastard! Take your disgusting hands out of there! This record-player is a unique device, did you know that there are only 20 of these? Oh no, of course! How would a greasy one like you know? you stink of cheap weed and I’m sure you don't take off that damn £ 1-pound shirt even to sleep! Do you ever take a damn bath? Do you know a fucking soap? Oh, the damn rockers like you so outdated don't end up extinct in this new era, you all should be attached to the emerging British invasion, and not continue to cling to the old damn Yankee songs of the past decade! Hey! are you listening to me? Hey, stop that! Fucking _greaser_!" Although lysergic acid was making him hallucinate enough, Don Martin did not lose his consciousness at all, after all he was already quite accustomed to the use of LSD, and he knew how much dose to consume and to tell the truth this time he had not consumed too much because he did not want not to miss having a “bad trip”, as he had proposed before in his plans for that night before the arrival of the motorcyclist.

"Ok ...calm down please, pretty boy, nothing bad will happen to your damn jukebox, at least not so soon," Ricky said sarcastically with a short laugh, although just turning to see Don. He had made his voice sound in a lower and quieter tone than usual, due to his relaxation, but his voice never ceased to sound serious, deep, masculine, something that Don could also _“taste”_ very well, despite being exasperated, because he really didn't like anyone touching his precious things, much less with such boldness. And much less a damn Rocker.

Don felt even more annoyed at being ignored that way by his daring client, and continued trying to struggle with him to take away him from the record player, although he did not struggle with him too much since he did not want to damage the device, it was truly a valuable piece for him, and newly acquired.

"Hey, stoop! Give me that!" snapped the energetic blond, trying to pull the rocker's arms away from the record player, but without success.

"Why do you have a record player here if it's not for use, _fairy_ boy?" Ricky questioned, smiling mischievously. The looks of both met again. Ricky's blue eyes seemed much brighter in Don's psychedelic perception, a pair of blue orbs surrounded by a blood-red sea, he thought. Such a description might have seemed scary to anyone, but to tell the truth to Don that two-color overall in the eyes of the attractive bastard rocker was beautiful, and that made him downplay to some extent the term with which Ricky had just colloquially called him just a moment ago, _fairy boy_ , which in slang term was almost always used to pejoratively refer to a passive homosexual, and he was one, in fact, although it was still something totally illegal in England and the United Kingdom.

"Pff, yes, but it's not for a damn cretin like you to use it, less without my permission! I already told you it's not a damn jukebox! Like those you the rockers use for your damn races. Ultimately, if you're going to play something there, let it be another damn thing!" the blond let out a grumble.

Ricky laughed again, this time he did it harder than he had done before and in fact much stronger than he usually did. Undoubtedly, the effects of so much marijuana made him seem as if he were another person on every occasion he consumed it, although it was not that he consumed it too often or that he lost consciousness every time at all.

"Better enjoy, cute boy," Ricky said, drawing a languid seductive smile, and then he sang a bit of that rock n' roll again, along with the music that continued to play.

Don Martin decided to get away from there at last, but just to head for a nearby shelf where he soon got something out. It was a vinyl that showed in large letters the logo of _"The Who"_ and the words _"My Generation",_ an album that had become a milestone since its recent release two months ago.

"Hey, you fool! Do you know who these are? One of the best bands of modern England in the 60s! These are great! Did you understand, idiot? Modern! They have talent, they are revolutionaries, innovators, they have a good taste to wear, and above all they are all British! Do you understand now why we are _mods_? We are always in trend with the modern! " Don exclaimed, Ricky laughed again when he heard it, he was very amused to make Don angry, and anyway the weed that had smoked increased his laughter, even if he wanted to avoid it.

"Hahaha."

"Look at this vinyl, I bet you didn't even know them, since you live in your stupid time capsule, combed with your ridiculous black hair slicked with wax using a fucking Quiff hairstyle, believing you an Elvis!" Don continued trying to provoke him, he was certainly exasperated and at the same time excited and determined to show him that the mod style was superior to that of the outdated rockers, but he was also having fun, because annoying impertinent, insolent people always amused him.

"The [Who]?" oh, another band of ridiculous flamboyant youngsters dressed in tailor suits ... I'm not interested at all," Ricky said sarcastic, without losing the rhythm of rock n' roll that continued to play on the console.

"[The Who]"! is what they are called, and you know what? Listening to them live is a great experience! I have just seen them three times this year, in the _"Golders Green Refectory"_ here in London, because they are in force, they are emerging and they are already big ones. Where are your idols of the damn rock n' roll now? Oh yes, they retired! or they had problems with the law! Outdated! " Don continued to provoke him. Ricky laughed again.

"Oh haha, little hippie, I see you never leave London, who lives in a bloody capsule now?" the dark-haired man said sardonically he didn't imagine that he could enjoy so much making the Londoner short of stature exasperate that way, that _mod_ in charge of his own records store.

"I'm not a fucking hippie! I'm a bloody Mod! Are you so stupid not to distinguish it? That shit weed that you smoke has destroyed your neurons!" Don clenched his lips with some force, felt that he was reaching a high point of despair and although he had been the first to play to provoke the other, he began to despair, or perhaps it was also the effect of his intoxication with LSD. Suddenly, the blond decided to take another vinyl from one of the nearby boxes, and showed the cover to Ricky, with pride.

"Hey! Have you heard of _The Beatles_? Or _the Rolling Stones, The Animals_? Ah, bah! Listen! These are _"The Kinks"_ , songs and music that these guys play is so damn like ..."

But to his great surprise before he could continue with his sentence, just when his exclamations were getting hotter to the point that anyone could have followed his quarrel, Ricky skillfully circled him with one of his arms making him quickly hit against the wall, a little rough despite his slowed movements. Don Martin did not have time to dodge it, or perhaps he did not want to do it because he could not tell whether that was a psychedelic delirium of his or if it was really happening, and if he was really looking forward to it, but when he realized the handsome rocker seized his lips in a raptured kiss, which was almost fleeting but melted in its entirety, so much that he could feel his tongue meet his, and the immediate effect of psychedelia was to have the feeling that they both shared the same tongue, both were only one in that unexpected kiss that however did not last too long because Ricky quickly pulled away, taking two steps back, trying however to have the least clumsiness possible, nor did he himself know why the hell he had dared to do that at that moment, no he was well aware that the marijuana in his body had emboldened him in a way he had never imagined, never kissed any man and never had the slightest interest in none, not even in the late Billy, and now suddenly in a small vinyl shop in London, so far from his home, he had dared to kiss with a complete stranger, a quirky, queer man a man of his possible same age. Maybe both marijuana joints were really causing him delusions.

"Let's see if you shut up now a little, _fairy kinky mod_ , or hippie or whatever the fuck you are," Ricky said without losing his seductive countenance, savoring that fleeting kiss that had taken the blond away from him for a moment. His mouth had felt quite dry minutes before that kiss, because of cannabis, and thus joining his mouth to that of the blond had cooled him a little. Ricky felt elated at the time, but he was still conscious enough to regret a bit of what he had just done. He was not a bloody homosexual, but somehow from the first moment he had seen Don when he entered that store, he supposed that Don really was, that he was undoubtedly the kind of queer that likes to be fucked from behind, and therefore Ricky thought that if he had to use a way like that just to shut him up, maybe it wasn't all bad.

Don Martin for his part was stunned by the unexpected act of the handsome rocker. He would never have expected the leather guy to dare such a thing, especially since he thought he would be the one in the initiative. But it had been something really wonderful. The psychedelia in his neurons made him perceive that kiss much more delicious than he had imagined, and he licked his lips recklessly.

"You fucking bastard, so you're an AC/DC, you bastard, huh? Wow! Do you fucking like both women and men? Or are you a complete homosexual?" Don pronounced acidly, though barely audible, he was still baffled, and extremely excited. He had no idea what could happen next, but he wanted to continue to show courage before Ricky. And rock n 'roll music was still playing on the device.

"None of that, don't get excited, I just wanted to shut you up at once, you fruit dolly boy, you’re a fucking queer, I can see" Ricky replied, smiling wryly. Then he went to the record player with the purpose of removing the vinyl and leaving the place once and for all.

"So you think you are very clever, damn cretin..." Don stammered softly, watching as Ricky with a little awkwardness removed the disc that had continued playing until that moment.

While the rocker, placed the vinyl inside its cardboard case, Don took the opportunity to take out of his pocket a very tiny square of blotting paper, impregnated with LSD, it was the other half of the blotter paper that had eaten a while ago, before that Ricky appeared in his shop, which made the full dose. Without wasting time or thinking about it, the blond put the paper square on his tongue and soon headed towards Ricky, who was distracted with the vinyl, and being close enough to him and thanks to the fact that he was a little inclined in that moment, Don pulled the white scarf of the dark-haired to draw him to him and quickly snatched a kiss, almost in the same abrupt way in which Ricky had snatched him the first kiss a few minutes ago.

Ricky was not able to avoid it, he kept seeing everything in a kind of slow motion, and he did not want to avoid it at all and was carried away by the seduction of Don, joining his lips to his again, melting their mouths in a new raptured kiss, finding their tongues again, not knowing that Don was sharing part of the paper impregnated with LSD in that kiss, that it would not take effect until after a while but that Don was greatly excited to share it with his handsome client that way.

But that kiss didn't last too long, and soon they broke apart, because Ricky decided to stop him, pushing Don a little to get him away from him. A kiss snatched by him before, with the purpose -or pretext- of shutting him down had been fine as a "game", but a second kiss was not good in any way, let alone accept that it was Don who had snatched it this time. Ricky was not a homosexual and he wasn't going to pretend to be one now, and he refused to even think about the idea of fuck to another man, like Don.

"Hey, get away, you fucken queer!" Ricky snapped, having pushed him. Don fortunately did not fall to the floor because of that sudden push, and laughed amused to notice Ricky's expression of annoyance, and laughed more to know that he had passed part of his dose of LSD with his own tongue in that kiss, something that Ricky had not noticed.

"Now you know what it feels like a damn cretin to force you to kiss you, foreign crap rocker" exclaimed Don presumptuously and laughing sardonically, finishing absorbing the rest of the blotting paper in his mouth.

Ricky took his vinyls and headed for the stairs that led to the exit and when he stepped on the first step, he finally exclaimed.

"Don't get excited, pretty queer, I'm not going to fuck your ass tonight," Ricky said with a mocking smile. In one hand he held the vinyls, with the other he showed an obscene signal with his middle finger addressed to the blond.

Don saw him go up the stairs noticing the patches on his back with the words _"The Durham Defenders"_ and laughed again, the heated situation amused him greatly, and he responded to Ricky with the same obscene sign, although Ricky barely saw it.

The Rocker quickly left the place, he had felt a little awkward when he climbed the stairs, although his movements were not really uncoordinated. While out of the place, he headed for his motorcycle that had parked next to Don's shop. Ricky rode the motorcycle after arranging the vinyl on the back, fitted with a tape, and then started the engine to start and move away from there once.

Don had tried to reach him, perhaps to persuade him to stay, he wanted to continue provoking the handsome strange black-jacket rocker with whom he had kissed twice that night. Don climbed the stairs that led to the exit as fast as he could, but as soon as he was on the sidewalk outside the business, he barely got to see how Ricky's café-racer motorcycle was quickly lost to the avenue, in the middle of the night.

"You'll be back, son of a bitch," Don said low, only he could hear himself, anyway, there was no one around at that moment.

The LSD that he had consumed before meeting Ricky still had effects on him, the second portion he had ended up sharing with Ricky still had no effect, he would have to wait, but he decided that he really wanted to go home, he was elated by the heated moment and because of the strong psychedelic stimulant, but at the same time his body was tired, and it was already quite late, he had spent much more time than he had arranged, it was almost 10:00 pm, and he just wanted to lock himself in his bedroom and listen to a little of soul and folk.

Don returned to his shop only to turn off the lights and close the place, but not before stopping for a brief moment to observe the same place where only a few minutes ago he had had a forbidden kiss with that foreign rocker. He wondered if he would really see him again. If had he been less drugged, maybe he would have taken his scooter and gone after Ricky to reach him, and he also wondered how incongruous it was that a mod like him had kissed a rocker, a natural rival for the urban subcultures.

“Hell! I do not fucking know what excites me more, the fact that a foreign and unknown attractive rocker have kissed me or the fact that this damn shit is illegal: drugs and being a queer!” he thought every so often until he was above the premises, in his home.

Everything was illegal, also having done it under the influence of drugs.

Don kept thinking of Durham's attractive rocker all night.

He finished closing the store and finally went home. And since he had that "The Kinks" album at hand, he soon played _"You really got me"_ several times that night.

_You got me so I don't know what I'm doin 'now_

_Yeah, you really got me now_

_You got me so I can't sleep at night_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agh! At last I could publish this fic!  
> First of all, I apologize for my mistakes. English is not my first language but I try always my best, even with the using of some slang.  
> Well, I must say that it took me a lot of work to write this particular story since I had to document a lot so that everything would be meticulously well xD I was also sick recently and I had several interruptions so I delayed much more than I wanted, since the purpose was to publish it before the end of 2019, but in the end it could not. I can't believe it took me more than two weeks to publish it ; -; but finally here it is! ;D is also a new fic! I had not been able to publish a new story for almost 4 years, although the inspiration for this pair never ends (because oh hell, they are so perfect together and they feed my imagination so much with all their works every single day, not for nothing I already have more than 80 AUs imagined with them), but sometimes I don't have as much time as I would like >:'v  
> I hope you liked this first chapter and the story ;D  
> It is a story that I wanted to publish for about 4 years! T-T  
> You will see what will happen next, in this sexy story of a relationship between a rocker and a mod, an illegal love-hate relationship, full of sex, drugs and rock n' roll! :v  
> I must say that the second chapter I have almost ready too, so I will not delay in updating, and I will also try to update my other fics, which I have not been able to update in months because of my realistic comic by Heinz Kruger / Everett Ross made me still busy, it absorbs me! T-T  
> Your comments, kudos and favs are greatly appreciated! :3


	2. Bad Trip, new horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ricky experiences a “bad trip” due to excess and combination of Marijuana and LSD. In the midst of his hallucinations, he experiences flashbacks that remind him of past experiences, both good and painful, causing him a certain existential crisis, blaming himself again for Billy's death. All this seems to be accompanied by his new bad luck just a few days after arriving in London. But soon everything changes when he meets another rocker who extends a hand to him. And soon he meets again with the moody blond mod named Don Martin, with whom he kissed in an outburst that night he arrived at his store by chance.

**Chapter 2 —Bad Trip, new horizon**

Ricky did not know how he got home. The effects of the marijuana that he had consumed a while ago mixed with the LSD that had been unknowingly shared by the guy from the vinyl store through that unexpected kiss were filling him more and more with delusions so intense that he did not remember having experienced before.

"What the hell is happening to me?" he wondered with both hands on his head, sitting on his old second-hand sofa, the only piece of furniture that adorned his little living room, while each time he experienced a strange dance of colors, of such an intense tone, so intense that he had never imagined. In his psychedelic perception, those colors seemed to take on a life of their own all around him, but he was so intoxicated that he still hadn't realized that such hallucinations were rather being provoked because Don, the guy from the vinyl store, had shared something of his lysergic acid with him through that kiss he had taken from him in an oversight.

"ahh…why? I just smoked damn weed, shit like this had never happened to me…ahhh…but, look what colors! Hahahaha" Ricky was still totally confused, a little dizzy, but inexplicably exhilarated because of the effects. Little by little and as the delusions became more and more intense, Ricky enjoyed it all more. He had smoked marijuana countless times for many years, and had even tried some other substances, but had never experimented with LSD before, and although right now he had no idea that it was his first time, nor did he have the lucidity to speculate it, he was enjoying the effects. The colors were fantastic, and he felt his mind fly, as if it were taking on a life of its own too, as if it were coming out of his head to become an independent being. It was something so strange and so pleasant, that he was forgetting everything that distressed him and also what was bothering him, like the kiss that the strange owner of the vinyl store had stolen from him a while ago.

"Ah, haha okay, I forgive that _queer_ for having dared that..." he said in the midst of his delirium, with a big smile framed on his face, and between some laughter product of the hallucination, and then he remembered that in fact he had stolen a kiss from the vinyls guy before him, and that made him laugh more "oh, that's right, I kissed him first. Ahh, it wasn't bad, he goaded me on, he provoked me" he said to himself, remembering how in an outburst he had decided to shut up the blond guy from the vinyls store with a kiss. He remembered how strongly he had been driven to do so and how he had enjoyed it even if it had been a very fleeting and momentary kiss.

But why had he kissed him like that so suddenly?

He didn't want to accept it, not even when drugged, as he was right now, but the truth was that the vinyls guy, that Don, had attracted him from the first moment he had seen him.

"Haha damn _queer_ , cute fairy boy, I made him look ridiculous, haha, surely with that he believed that a rocker like me could fall for him" said Ricky laughing as his mind continued making him rave lots of unequal figures of a thousand bright colors in kaleidoscope, and while his mind was also projected over and over again the boyish face of this Don Martin, always with sweet features despite his frown under those modern rose-tinted glasses.

It could not be known yet if that had been due to the effects of the weed that had been smoked minutes before entering that store, or if the blond guy met the standards that he had always unconsciously liked. He just couldn't explain it to him, but he had liked Don Martin, even if he was a stupid, grumpy, cretin mod, maybe even that was one of the things that had instinctively drawn him instantly to him, or maybe what in the reality that had attracted him to him had been only the challenge of daring to snatch a kiss from a fucking annoying mod, only to irritate him, only to silence him, only to dominate him and at the same time make fun of him, because Ricky had realized almost instantly that the such a Don exuded a total homosexual countenance.

"That guy...ahh that guy..." he spluttered in the middle of his hallucinations, in which the face of that guy named Don became more and more persistent. It had been more than an hour since Ricky had fled that store, and he was experiencing what they call a "high," that is, the increased effects of LSD, which combined with the effects of marijuana became much more intense and pleasant.

"Ahh this...is so crazy..." Ricky muttered, watching how the colors and shapes of the few things that existed around him inside his empty house became much stranger. He constantly extended his hands in an effort to touch those hallucinations, even if they existed only in his drugged imagination.

Thus, several hours passed until after midnight. The combined effects of LSD and marijuana were so persistent in his head that he could only continue to indulge in it. He was at the height of its effects, that moment when hallucinations are most enjoyed, the moment when all the senses are intensified to enjoy even the smallest of life. He experienced synesthesia with increasing acuity. Ricky realized that music sounded much better to his ears while he was still under these effects, when he played the vinyls he had just bought in the blond guy's store. The music also seemed to come to life, he even seemed to be able to "touch" it between his hands, and he couldn't stop smiling imagining that Chuck Berry and Elvis Presley themselves were singing for him in the same room. His sense of touch was so considerably heightened that there was a long time when he could not stop stroking the plush of one of his covers, and when the _"rise"_ was even more intense, his mind even made him create the hallucination of that by caressing that plush he was actually caressing the blond guy he had just kissed a few hours ago. He began to hallucinate that he was stroking his golden hair, and his cheeks were rosy with his apparent bad mood, which amused him greatly, and even at one point, Ricky began to kiss that plush without stopping stroking it, deceived by his mind, believing that he was actually kissing that mod jerk again.

Ricky also experienced the glorious intensity of the flavors enhanced by the hallucination. He'd discovered that the single celery in his cupboard was almost a delicacy when he took a bite, even if it wasn't cooked. No doubt his stimulated brain by cannabis and lysergic acid were fooling him. He had even known how to kiss that plush on the blanket very well.

In this way he continued hallucinating for hours, relaxed on his old sofa, his eyes red from cannabis and his pupils greatly dilated from LSD, so much so that he barely showed a bit of his blue iris, rejoicing in his own happiness, listening to rock and roll played on his record player, caressing and kissing that plush, until dawn came and the effects of both drugs began to gradually diminish.

The LSD had given him insomnia, but he would soon discover that cannabis would play a very bad trick on him, when he suddenly began to shiver without stopping.

"Brrr..." he was shivering with cold as he now curled up on his bed, covering herself with that same plush blanket that he had been caressing for hours, without it being effective, because instead of feeling less cold when covering himself, the sensation of it was increasing more and more.

"Ahh how damn cold!" exclaimed the dark-haired rocker, although to tell the truth his words sounded almost in a whisper, he had not fully realized that his forces had drastically decreased and that this was in fact, an effect caused by the _"whitey"_ that he was already suffering. The excessive use of cannabis and his poor diet since he had arrived in London was taking its toll right now, causing him a terrible hypoglycemia that was causing those terrible tremors, which were increasing more and more. Worst of all, the LSD in his system further intensified the terrible symptoms, to the point of making them more unbearable.

Ricky had been an avid marijuana user since his teens, and had only experienced a “whitey” or two in his life, but that was twenty years ago.

"Ahhg this must be a fucking _white-out_ , damn weed," he muttered as he continued to shiver nonstop, shivering with cold as if the weather was -20°C when in reality the actual temperature was not even below zero.

The effects of both drugs were still persistent in his system, but since he was already at the time of lowing the effects, he began to have greater lucidity, so even in the midst of hallucinations he had finally realized that he was suffering from this horrible and detestable bad effects of marijuana.

He continued shivering curled up in his bed covered with that blanket for a while longer, but soon he also began to feel terribly sick to his stomach, his chest began to ache terribly, but he tried to endure the spasms. His head began to spin, while his mind continued hallucinating a thousand dancing colors, however, now the objects around him, the imaginary ones and the real ones, were acquiring frightening forms, sharp, pointed, others more _"melted",_ under his erratic perception. All those strange figures now disturbed him and all those dancing colors that a few hours ago had enchanted him now annoyed him. And soon his annoyance turned to horror, as the terrifying spasms in his torso increased, forcing him to bend over in pain on the bed.

"Uhhh," Ricky complained, bent over his bed, shivering, frightened by the forms that were becoming more and more monstrous. Even that rustic bureau next to his bed, which seemed to melt before his eyes in a grotesque way, began to make him panic, because to him it seemed as if that strange mass had a life of its own and evil and had black intentions to harm him.

Ricky continued to suffer from the _bad trip_ for a while longer, by that time it was already close to 4:00 am, although his drugged mind had long ago made him lose track of time. A torturous eternity had passed for him that he could hardly bear anymore. He was feeling so bad that his lack of lucidity tempted him to go out and seek medical help, with the neighbor, on the street, with anyone, because of course he did not have a telephone at home. However, everything was in idleness, because the spasms in his rib cage, his horrible hallucinations, his tremors, his head spinning, his general weakness, did not let him even get out of bed.

Although, around 4:30 am there was a time when it was no longer possible for him to resist anymore and as he could, he got out of bed and went as soon as he could to the bathroom to puke. He did not know how long he was vomiting, but the truth was that he had been there for almost an hour, even though the toilet also seemed to him to have a monstrous and spiky shape. By the time he was able to get up from there, his chest was sore, his esophagus had suffered from vomiting so much, but at least the spasms in his chest had reduced considerably.

When he was able to get up to clean himself up a bit, he finally looked at himself in front of the mirror above the sink, and although his mind was still hallucinating some strange shapes and bright colors, he could recognize his face well in the mirror. He realized that his face, which normally looked very well-tanned, was now terribly pale, he perceived it almost as white as the towel that was next to dry his hands, which made his eyes, reddened by marijuana, contrast. The perception with LSD made him see his eyes much bluer than ever, despite the fact that his pupils were still somewhat dilated, and the red around him was as intense as blood. Also, his lips were somewhat purple, but the LSD made them look a deep violet. All of that only managed to scare him that much more. He thought he must look like a ghost. Although the "down" on both drugs was nearing completion, they were still having a lot of effects on him, so he even came to think that perhaps his hideous appearance was actually due to the fact that he was already dead.

"I'm a fucking undead!" he managed to barely say a sentence at last, after a long time of not being able to express any words in order.

With a bit of lucidity, he went to drink some water, and then reached his bed again and lay down. He snuggled up again, and covered himself again with the blanket, the same one he had kissed a few hours ago, to try to calm a bit the cold he still felt. The effects of the bad trip with LSD and the 'whitey' had already diminished a little and now they were more tolerable, but it was still a long time before they completely disappeared. Despite the fact that the combination of both drugs had caused him a terrible insomnia, his body finally gave way to sleep, shortly before dawn. Around 6:00 am he had already managed to fall asleep completely.

The stimulation of both drugs caused him to dream almost immediately, although this time his dreams made him go back to times past, seeing his entire life for as long as he could remember. Everything happened in his dreams like the projection of a movie.

Richard “Ricky” Deeming was born towards the end of the 1920s, specifically in the summer of 1929, in Durham, in the north of England, in a large working-class family, he was the fourth of eight children. His parents had suffered and survived the first great war being very young in 1914, and unfortunately, the second great war had greatly affected their family as well, when by the late 1930s all eight children had already been born. The 1940s were therefore the most difficult, although the war had not affected the people from Durham as directly as it had affected other parts of England and continental Europe, a great crisis had been unleashed, adding to the fact that that Ricky's father had had to serve his nation twice in the military. By the time the Second Great War ended, Ricky was practically a 15-year-old teenager, who, given the precarious circumstances, had had to turn into a man even when he was younger. Ricky had had to drop out of school from a young age to go to work and help with the family finances.

In fact, Ricky had been about to participate in that dreadful war as well. He had lived through the fear of the invasion of the Nazis and the bombings that they had unleashed in various parts of England in 1940. During those terrible days, Ricky and his family had lived through the panic and misery caused by the war, and the such hostile events had been lodged in their memories forever, something that would stay with them for the rest of their lives. Seeing the anguish and crisis that the war had generated during those days, and facing the uncertainty caused by the fear of the invasion of the Nazis in the British Isles, Ricky and his two older brothers had made up the idea of participating in the war if necessary, and they had resigned themselves to it, but in the end England was well defended, and in Durham, far from London, they had not been too much affected, and shortly thereafter the war at last ended and, to their fortune, it was no longer necessary for them to join the troops.

When the war ended, and the period of reestablishment in an apparent peace began, now everything felt very strange, it was not easy to accept that everything would be at peace from now on after living so many years in fear that each day would be their last day of their lives, fearful every day that at any moment an unexpected bomb would fall on them or that the Nazis would suddenly take them prisoner. That fear and that resentment continued to disturb them for the next few years, even into the beginning of the next decade, years in which despite the peace that had been agreed between the nations, the terrible economic crisis could not fully recover immediately.

The economic crisis affected his family a lot, like many others, so just a year after the war ended, Ricky decided to move away from home, just when he turned 16, and went to live alone in a small room he rented near the cold shore.

Since he was 14 years old, Ricky had worked very hard, sometimes practically all day, hardly having time to get some sleep, since his main purpose for a long time had been to acquire his first motorcycle, which would also help him to transport faster from one place to another. For as long as he could remember, Ricky had witnessed the everyday use of motorcycles in his community. Motorcycles had been very useful to British jobs since the 1920s, shortly after their general sale had been introduced. The motorcycle was cheaper than a car and was fast and efficient to transport and perform various tasks. Ricky had been enchanted by motorcycles since he was very young, and since then he had fervently wanted to get his own someday not too far away. For years, the war and the precariousness caused by it had taken away Ricky's hopes of obtaining a motorcycle, but when the war had ended and as the economy gradually recovered, Ricky once again obtained the illusion of being able to buy one, even if he needed to work so hard day and night to get one.

Before the 1940s ended, and after saving enough money, Ricky managed to buy himself a good motorcycle, a beautiful Vincent Black Shadow model 1948, which he soon began to customize. During that time, he had also saved enough money to start a small motorcycle repair shop. He had learned to do repairs long ago, when he started working since he had to leave school, and he had discovered that it was something that he was really passionate about.

Ricky managed to customize his motorcycle to his liking and make it much more aerodynamic, to make it faster. Soon he had signed up for motorcycle races which were slowly becoming more popular across the UK. When the 1950s were just beginning, and Ricky was leaving his teens to become a true adult, participating in motorcycle racing became commonplace for him. He was passionate about participating in such races every time there was a competition, which was usually almost every weekend.

The 1950s were going quite well. The terrifying years of war were behind us. He was not earning much, but he had enough to live on and to maintain his motorcycle and the races he continued to passionately participate in every Sunday. And in each race, he always managed to get a good place, although what mattered most to him was having the satisfaction of feeling free riding his motorcycle at high speed, and enjoying the crash of the breeze against his face. He was a lucky young man in the 1950s who really enjoyed his life. He hadn't had to participate in the war and he certainly felt lucky about that, but he always had the uncertainty of thinking about what his life and destiny would have been like if he had had to fight as a soldier, and that suppressed emotion could now be channeled and released into the roads of Durham, being one with the spirit of his motorcycle. Little by little Ricky was discovering how much he loved speed. He hardly cared about anything else.

Ricky also continued to work hard in his motorcycle repair business every afternoon, Monday through Friday. His motorcycle repair shop had thrived quite well over the past few years, so much so that by the mid-1950s he had even hired a couple of young guys to help him with the business. He was proud of that, he had achieved such prosperity in so few years, he was satisfied, and he enjoyed doing his job while listening to the songs that had become quite popular on the radio. Great _rockabilly_ performers like Little Richard and Chuck Berry feasted their ears with their music in the evenings until night fell and they had to close the shop. Fortunately, he had learned how to perform repairs very well, and as a result he had managed to obtain quite a few clients.

In 1957, Ricky, who was 29 years old, who had become a true expert in motorcycle racing and its customization, also became an increasingly fanatic of the already famous rock n 'roll. He had been greatly influenced by everything that came from the United States, and both he and his friends increasingly adopted much of the American styles. In those years, TV was becoming more popular and in his town some people already had such devices, although not as much as the people of London, because they were expensive and there was still a lot of economic crisis and many families were still poor. But with savings he had managed to buy one of those modern devices that year. Many of the American programs were broadcast on TV with increasing frequency, where for the first time the singers of the moment were able to make themselves known. The Rock n 'Roll wave was in full swing, Elvis Presley's style, with his tight-fitting clothing and _quiff_ hairdo, had been imitated by the _"Rockers"_ , also known as _"Ton-Up boys"_ , the new urban subculture, which was spreading rapidly throughout the British Isles, the equivalent of the so-called _greasers_ of the United States. The rebellious boys increased in number over the course of the decade, and Ricky, despite not being quite a teenager, felt deeply identified and alienated by that new tendency of the rebellious boy against the restraint that parents had always demanded to their children. Ricky, knew from the beginning of the movement, that he was definitely one of those so-called _"Rockers”_ , and he felt even vain to think that he was lucky that his hair was dark, which he darkened even more until it became completely black, so that some time ago he had left it long on his forehead so he could comb it in a _"quiff"_ style, just like Elvis, like the rest of the rebellious boys dressed in black leather.

But what had really alienated him completely to become a rocker rebel had happened 4 years ago, in December 1953, when he learned of the existence of a film that revolutionized this new trend from the United States, the prestigious film _“The Wild One”_ , with Marlon Brando. At that time when researching about this film he felt greatly excited and eager to see it, especially when he managed to read the short story on which the film was based, _The Cyclists' Raid_ , written by Frank Rooney and published in the American _Harper's Magazine_ in January 1951. The story, based on a true event, which deals with the events that took place in the Californian town of Hollister on July 21, 1947 when a group of bikers staged different vandalism in the area, but his disappointment was enormous. upon learning that in the UK it had been banned by _the British Board of Film Censors_ , because, they said, it incited young boys to become more rebellious.

Ricky was frustrated and annoyed by this, but decided that he should definitely find a way to see the film. Thanks to his close circle of friends, it didn't take long for him to find out that there would be some clandestine projection where they would attend with great secrecy and with a very exclusive invitation. To do this he had to travel far, outside of Durham. That was the first time he had traveled to London.

Thus, Ricky and his motorcycle friends arrived in London in the spring of 1954, with the sole purpose of seeing the famous film. They had ready their motorcycles in the early morning and by before dawn they had already set out on the road. Hours later, the motorcycle gang arrived in the great capital, all dressed in black leather, imposing with their image and their _quiff_ hairstyle in the first London cafeteria they entered. In that place they took a break and enjoyed together for a good time. It didn't take long for the coexistence to be joined by several pretty girls, who flirtatiously seduced the bikers and who allowed themselves to be seduced by foreign rude boys as well.

Night came, the scheduled time for the projection was close and the rockers, along with the girls, went to the place where they had been indicated. Several of the guys in the gang knew something about London, they had been there several times there, so with that knowledge and with a little help they managed to get to the place without problem, but not before forgetting to rent a car each, since the film would be screened in a drive-in cinema in the northwestern corner of the city.

Ricky was able to choose a good car, a stunning red Jaguar model 1950.

The group of rockers entered the clandestine drive-in cinema without problem, which on the outside was disguised as any facade. Ricky was getting more and more excited. He would finally see the long-awaited movie, the fact that it was banned throughout the UK only made it even more exciting, and now he was about to enjoy it next to a sensual girl he had picked up in the cafeteria that afternoon. The clandestine screening of that film excited him greatly. His expectations had been met, the plot and character had so captivated him to the point of ecstasy. That night, right after watching the movie and after feeling himself projected into it, he had sex with the girl in the back seat of the rental car, on some hill, a wild sex filled with an impetus that he had not felt before, despite having slept with many other girls before, since his teens.

The next day they had to go back to Durham. He would never see that girl he enjoyed that casual sex with again, but he would remain ecstatic for many days upon his return. But the unbridled sex with that liberal girl had not been what made him feel so. What really excited him was feeling more and more alive as he forged his rebel identity by emulating those popular styles, feeling identified. He felt like a total rebel without a cause.

In this way, the passage of time continued. Ricky continued to maintain the lifestyle he enjoyed so much, he continued to be a rebellious _‘rocker’_ without a cause, increasingly inspired by rockabilly, which had become entirely his philosophy. By the end of the decade, he had become the leader of the most famous motorcycle gang in the county. Ricky had named them the _“Durham defenders”_ and they had become what was already known to people in the UK as _“café racers”_ , where they highlighted the challenges of making a career from one café to another in record time or in the length of time a song played on the jukebox will last. Ricky enjoyed each of those little races, he never got tired of the speed and the challenges with his friends, he never got tired of feeling the speed and feeling it pleasantly pressing his stomach, he never got tired of feeling the air hitting his face quickly every time he accelerated the speed of his motorcycle. And when arriving at each cafe, he always enjoyed drinking each cup of coffee served by the owner of the place. He knew all of them and got along with each one. And he also really enjoyed being able to show his fighting skills with every brawl unleashed against rival Café Racers Rockers gangs, even though even being quite tall and strong he always resulted in some punches that sometimes kept him awake. Ricky was pretty happy living that way, and he really had no worries. Life had treated him well enough after having suffered the crisis of war during his childhood. Ricky thought that maybe it was all part of that reward, and he didn't want to give it up and had thought it might be different. He didn't stop to think about the future, but when he did, he could only imagine that he would always be a motorcyclist wearing black leather, with black hair styled in a "quiff", competing with his friends and rival gangs, and sleeping with any cute girl that he liked and with which he had a chance, all to the rhythm of jazz and rock n 'roll. He had certainly enjoyed the 1950s with unmatched glory. But then, when he could least realize it, in the midst of all his enjoyment of life, the decade of the 60s began. But he felt ready for this new decade. By then Ricky had just turned 30, but he still felt almost like a teenager. He felt more alive than ever, he knew that times had changed, that it should no longer be like in the past, and that getting married and starting a family was not his thing. Ricky just wanted to keep rocking, he wanted to keep feeling the speed on his motorcycle and he wanted to continue surrounded by his brotherly gang of rocker friends, despite the fact that many of them were younger than him, and in which boys who were even much younger, boys who were really teenagers, and some of them had not yet reached their 20s, boys who had been the true result of the baby boom after the war, who therefore had not witnessed anything of it, and who therefore they had not even a remnant memory of that warlike hostility that Ricky could never forget. Those memories of Nazi-bombed England would never fade from his mind, even if Ricky had been a child by then. Those memories housed in his memory were perhaps one of the things that incited him to continue feeling the adrenaline of strong emotions, something that the new generation could not match or understand, and that made him feel the need to instruct them much more to convert into true motorcycling lovers, without hurting anyone. That was the main purpose that gave his gang its title.

Thus, the decade of the 60s began, and in 1961 his gang of café racers, properly called _"The Durham Defenders"_ had reached a peak of fame. Many people watched them with admiration walking the roads together, continuing with those challenges from café to café while the jukebox played, integrating more prospects to the gang and making their initiation pacts in front of the cold coast of the county, to finally deliver their respective distinctive patches, which they would put on their majestic black leather jackets.

Life in Durham was still quite pleasant, the recently started decade of the 60s had not treated Ricky badly at all until now either, and although he lived alienated from his life as the leader of that band of _'rockers'_ , he always took time to visit his family on the other side of the county. His siblings had long been married and had families of their own, his parents still lived in the house where Ricky had spent his childhood, and he only thought that while his siblings were beginning to have children, he was still devoting himself to behaving like a teenager in the company of guys younger than him, but that didn't matter to him, and on the contrary, he always found a positive lake and that also made him think that somehow it could almost feel like his bandmates were a kind of children to him.

Ricky felt pretty good this way.

There was nothing relevant during the next 2 years, except the fights he had sometimes with rival gangs. His rocker band _"The Durham Defenders"_ had no new prospects since 1961, until 1963 when one day a young man named William Lister began to approach the group every time he saw them arrive at one of the cafes where they met and from where they started a starting point for their speed challenges. The young "Billy" joined the group not long after, thanks to his insistence. Ricky and the rest accepted him as a prospect after seeing that the boy had begged a lot to join the group and be one of them. Starting in 1964, _"The Durham Defenders"_ put him to the test as a prospect for 3 months, and in the spring of that same year, they did the rite of passage to make him a true member of the group. To do this, Ricky submerged him at the seaside, on the cold Durham coast, to see how long the boy could endure without breathing under the freezing salt water. Although it might seem cruel, to tell the truth, that rite of passage had been much smoother than the ones Ricky had had with the rest of the members of his gang. The other boys in the band had noticed it, as well as the little severity with which their leader, Ricky, had treated Billy from the beginning, but they had decided not to comment at all, much less complain about it. Although he did not admit it, Billy caused a certain tenderness in Ricky, perhaps because of his young age, 16 years his junior. Ricky saw him as a little brother whom he wanted to protect. Besides, even if Ricky couldn't explain it, and didn't want to admit it, he liked to see the boyish face of the young Billy every day, and that inherent fragility that appeared.

Despite the fact that due to his shyness he did not see many abilities in the boy, Ricky really wanted to help him join the gang, even having accepted him in just 3 months had been considered too early for the rest of the members.

And Billy had been very happy to have such acceptance in that prestigious, and already somewhat veteran, rocker gang, although what made him happy the most was feeling the acceptance of Ricky, with whom he was secretly in love, despite being something immoral and illegal in society.

However, Billy's time as a member of _"The Durham Defenders"_ would not last too long, and his secret infatuation with Ricky would not last long either, and it would be precisely that same thing that would lead him to his tragic destiny, because after that initiation, and still soaked in the icy water of the sea off the Durham coast, Billy raced on his motorcycle with the rest of the gang for a new and familiar cafe racer challenge, to the cafeteria of an Italian acquaintance named Roberto Minchella, who was a good friend of Ricky, and right there in that cafeteria his fatal destiny would be marked forever, all derived from the inopportune flirtation of the daring Shirley, girlfriend of Lawrence Elton, a significant member of _"The Durham Defenders"_ who never saw Billy with good eyes, and which sparked a dispute right there in the cafeteria, when Lawrence claimed Billy for 'flirting' with his girlfriend, trying to start a fight, in which Ricky came out in defense of shy Bill and, where immediately afterwards, Billy managed to give Ricky a leaking kiss on the cheek in gratitude, astonished everyone present, shaming Ricky greatly. Faced with such an unexpected act, Ricky pushed Billy away by reprimanding him, in a kind of rejection, which would be obvious to anyone, and then Billy fled the place.

"We’ll talk about this later!" Ricky exclaimed as the boy fled. He never imagined that this would be the last time she would see him.

The truth is that, faced with such unexpected action from Billy, Ricky had not known how to react. Now that Billy was gone he kept wondering what would have been the best way to act, and he kept thinking that at that moment he hadn't really felt upset or indignant, he could never disown Billy for something like that in any way, that fleeting kiss on his cheek had never caused in him a feeling of rejection, although he was not completely sure what exactly it had been that had caused him, nevertheless it had made him be sure of something that he never imagined and then confirmed logically, that shy Billy had been in love with him from the first moment, although even months after his death, it was still difficult for Ricky to accept. He was never attracted to any other boy and he never thought about being, he always liked girls, but the truth was that he did not cause a conflict if it was the fragile Billy, he did not have ingrained homophobia that had been promoted so much by the population since always, although it knew well that it was something illegal and therefore punished. However, Ricky certainly held Billy in very high esteem, he tenderly viewed him as his little brother, and that had even developed in him great affection, for that reason Billy's tragic death that very night hurt him deeply, especially because he hadn't been there to protect him and because the last time they had seen each other had been in that embarrassing situation.

That same night, Billy had been ambushed on the road by the noxious Lawrence Elton, aboard his motorcycle. Lawrence couldn't help but feel an immense rage towards him for "flirting" with his girlfriend. Billy's pleas weren't enough to make Lawrence stop. With a deft maneuver, the enraged and jealous Lawrence maliciously caused Billy's motorcycle to skid onto the road, killing him almost instantly from the violent impact against the concrete.

Finding out about Billy's tragic death was very painful for Ricky, who had still continued to reflect uncertainly on his reaction to Billy's feelings and his kiss on his cheek. Until that moment he did not know that Lawrence had caused the death of his dear friend. He also did not know how to react to the fatal bad news, but decided to attend Billy's funeral and offer his sad condolences to his mother.

Things got very messy for the next few days. Given the mess at the cafe racer, and following Lawrence's murder not long after Billy's death, Ricky became involved in the case as the prime suspect, in the crosshairs of his own former schoolmate, the young detective John Bacchus, who believed him guilty of both murders at first, even hinting that Ricky and Billy had actually been having an - illegal - homosexual relationship and that the crime had been derived from a dispute between them. But thanks to the vast experience and case-solving skills of the experienced London detective from Scotland Yard, George Gently, Ricky was acquitted of the crimes, and saved from the hands of the real criminal behind it all, Billy's own father, who had exacted revenge against Lawrence for murdering his son.

After suffering some minor burns to his neck, caused by the blowtorch that Billy's father tried to use to torture him, Ricky slowly recovered and then went on with his life. He realized that this whole mess had been the most intense thing he had experienced in his life since his early teens, and that none of this could compare to the fights and the speed of the races he had had for more than a decade, and that however he did not wish to live again. The tragic death of his good friend Billy had affected him a lot, although from the outside it seemed that it was not like that since his rebellious rocker appearance never ceased, because he could not show his distress to others, he hated to appear sentimental.

Not long afterwards, he began to be singled out by his own friends in the gang he had formed, who believed him guilty not only of the deaths of Billy and Lawrence, but also accused him of being a damn deviant, a homosexual, of having deceived them all that time hiding his true tendencies from them under a posture of rebellious, rude and alpha. For them, so intolerant of any sexual deviance, their leader could not be a damn _queer_. Thus, even though they had witnessed by themselves countless times and for years all the girls Ricky had slept with, they misjudged him hopelessly from then on. The hostility with which his former friends treated him more and more, forced him to break up the gang not long after and decide to leave Durham to start a new life far away in London. Leaving the prized band, he had so lovingly formed over the years hurt almost as much as Billy's death, but he had dignity, and still many dreams ahead. If he couldn't convince his now ex-teammates that he wasn't a fucking _queer_ invert, he wasn't willing to try either. If they couldn't trust him anymore, much less continue to accept him as their leader, he wouldn't trust them either anymore.

Now he was only willing that fate might bring him a great new chapter in his new life in London, at least a new chapter that wasn't so bitter.

By February 1966, Ricky still could not say that London had brought him good things since he had only arrived in the city a few days ago, but what was evident and that he could already consider a positive point, was the fact that meeting the blond guy from the vinyl store had been strangely interesting to him, but he was also experiencing a negative point, that just now this _bad trip_ that was giving him a very bad time.

After recapitulating his entire life in his memories, and suffering an existential crisis because of it, he returned to his current reality, in which he was still curled up in bed, still suffering many of the effects of the fucking _bad trip_. Recalling all those memories had brought back all the hurt feelings of the past, and the euphoria the drugs had unleashed hours before had now turned into deep anxiety.

Now that he was under the terrible effects of an excessive use of mixed drugs, he felt totally disconnected from the ego, but in a bad way, because he felt that his life had ended here, that he no longer had a purpose to continue living, and that for it could soon catch up with Billy in the afterlife. He felt like dying, and even more than that, he felt already dead.

"Ahhh I'll be with you soon, Billy," Ricky mumbled, almost hallucinating the silhouette of the deceased boy near the foot of his bed. "I'm already so damn dead, I'm going to keep you company soon," he said with a small voice as he tried to reach out that hallucination of Billy.

But far from that happening, he finally fell asleep when the sun was just beginning to rise. The dreams he started having weren't very pleasant either, because there was still drug left in his body, but they were much more bearable than all those horrible hallucinations he had experienced hours before.

He woke up almost at noon, with much improvement. He was still generally unwell, his torso still ached, and he felt dizzy, but he could see that he was lucid again. His mind was no longer hallucinating strange shapes in objects, or melting walls, or intense, dancing colors, but he still felt strange, as if certainly disconnected from reality. He got out of bed and as he could, he went to the bathroom to look at his face in the mirror again.

He studied his face, noting that he looked extremely haggard, still very pale, although not as pale as he had seen in his monstrous hallucination with purple lips during the early morning. He looked sick, but no longer so alarming. He still felt weak, but at least his eyes weren't so red anymore and his pupils weren't dilated anymore.

Ricky washed his face in the sink and then prepared the shower, sure that would help him to recover faster. Then he would clean up the mess he had made all over the house.

When he was completely ready and just finished cleaning everything, he remembered that he had nothing in the cupboard, except that piece of celery that he had bitten on drug, and he did not even have a fridge so he had nothing to eat. Despite the terrible spasms that he had suffered the night before during his intoxication, he was very hungry and his body demanded to eat more and more.

He decided to go outside to find something to eat. He had combed his characteristic "quiff" as well as he could, he just had to grab his leather jacket and ride his motorcycle to head to the cafeteria.

Although he still felt very strange and the landscape around him seemed to be still somewhat disconnected with his reality, he felt safe to ride his beloved motorcycle, and he raced on it to the other side of the neighborhood.

He made it to the cafeteria without a problem, fortunately he hadn't had too much trouble concentrating on riding his motorcycle, but when he entered the establishment and was about to order something from the menu, he realized that his wallet was not in his jacket.

"Hell!" He grumbled, also rummaging in his trouser pockets to make sure it wasn't there either, then a sudden flashback came to his mind, in a fleeting image that made him remember that he had dropped it just as he fled from the vinyl store the night before, so he realized that he had definitely not forgotten it at home, that he had misplaced it near Don's records and therefore would no longer have a penny to eat. He felt lost, and that made him very unmotivated and put him in a bad mood "damn it! So now I won't even have to eat today," he expressed annoyed.

Fortunately, he realized that he had at least one coin in his jacket pocket, with which he could buy at least one coffee, which was better than nothing.

When the coffee was brought to its place at the bar, he was feeling a little less bothered. He had resigned himself to having lost his wallet, there was no choice but to get more money somehow. Suddenly melancholy seized him again, as he drank every sip of his hot coffee. He was unmotivated to think that perhaps having lost his wallet with all his money within days of arriving in this great city could be a bad omen for the near future. Flashbacks of his past in Durham ran through his head again, making him feel even more melancholy, and hopeless to think that perhaps London was just the beginning of a bitter new chapter in his life.

Suddenly someone in the background changed the song that was playing on the jukebox. It was a song by Big Booper, _Chantilly Lace_.

_~ Hello baby, yeah, this is the Big Bopper speaking ~_

Hearing that song cheered him up a bit, it suddenly brought him back good memories, for he remembered that song had been released in August 1958, close to his birthday. Although suddenly melancholy invaded him again as he wanted to live again a prosperity like that year.

"Haha, to think yesterday I spent my money buying those vinyls at that cocky _queer_ guy's shop, and today I don't have a penny to eat," Ricky said to himself, remembering the grumpy blond mod who he had suddenly kissed the night before, and ironically thinking that although he appreciated having those vinyls now, the only thing he really wanted now was to be able to eat something "ahh, I'm really so hungry" he whispered with an ironic smile. The weakness he still felt made him rest his head on the bar for a moment, also to try to counteract a bit of his anxiety, and he closed his eyes.

Suddenly an unknown voice next to him spoke to him.

"Hey friend. you're good? " asked the guy, who was another rocker like him, with his dark hair combed in a _"quiff"_ style, and wearing jeans and a black leather jacket adorned with metal studs, patches, and pin badges.

Ricky sat up and turned to see the guy who was speaking to him.

"Hey? Ah, I'm fine…" he replied, trying to make a good impression. However, his bad appearance was evident to anyone's sight, as his face was still somewhat pale and haggard and his eyes were half-open and slightly red.

"Oh, don't tell me you overindulged smoking weed," the other rocker questioned, with a slightly smirk. "Is this place available?" he asked.

Ricky nodded his head and barely replied in words. Despite his eagerness to try to hide his weakness, he could not let his discomfort go unnoticed.

"oh c’mon, mate," he muttered the stranger rocker in a small voice.

"So, it's true, isn't it? You overpowered the weed. You are suffering the disastrous effects of the ‘ _whitey’_. Ha, I'm right?" the newcomer rocker asked, and before Ricky answered, he took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. He then offered a cigarette to Ricky, but Ricky kindly didn’t accept it.

"No thanks, mate, I don't feel like smoking for now. Thanks, whoever you are," said Ricky and went back to drinking some of his coffee that had already cooled down.

"My name is Benedict," said the other rocker, taking several puffs on his cigarette. Ricky didn't say it, but by now the cigarette smoke was extremely annoying to him, although with all his discomfort everything was annoying indeed. He was suffering more than if he had had a hangover.

"Ah, I'm Richard, but they call me Ricky…" he replied, rubbing his face with one hand, showing again that he was feeling bad.

"You're not from here in London, are you? I notice a northern accent... " the rocker Benedict pointed out.

"I'm from Durham…" Ricky replied, now leaning back in his seat, but trying to face Benedict. He still had a feeling of being in a dream.

"And I see the ‘whitey’ one is killing you," Benedict insisted again, grinning with a certain mockery.

"Ahh...never happened to me, I've smoked damn weed thousands of times for many years and never..." Ricky muttered, narrowing his eyes again, tilting his head back to take a short sigh.

"There's always a first time… it has also happened to me, I have suffered from its bad effects a couple of times despite having also smoked it a thousand times for years…" Benedict commented, grinning but seriously.

"Although it was so strange, I don't know if it was my impression but the effects made me feel like I had crossed another damn drug, and the only thing I smoked was the fucking weed...haha" Ricky said, with a wry giggle at the end.

"Maybe you drank alcohol and that crossed it..." Benedict added.

"Haha no, I just smoked the damn weed, like I said... maybe it was very pure, ahh, but it was horrible, I felt like I was dying, no, I even felt like I was already dead..." Ricky said, and finished drinking the last of his now cold coffee, the last of his current financial reserve.

"Ahh, I know what it feels like, mate. But there is nothing that a good spaghetti and a lot of sugar cannot solve. You'll feel much better," Benedict stated expressively, and gave him a pat on the back, then noticing the distinctive patch on his black leather jacket, which had _“The Durham Defenders”_ written on it.

"Hahaha…you're right… there's nothing better than a good spaghetti or something…" said Ricky, and giggled again wryly, as he waved the now empty cup of coffee in his hands.

Benedict chuckled languidly, somewhat confused and after a brief pause of seconds and seeing Ricky with that ironic smile as he stared at the empty cup of coffee, he understood his situation.

"Ah, foreign friend, don't you tell me you're in London penniless?" Benedict questioned with a chuckle, between ironic and nervous.

Ricky responded with a grin that framed his serious but haggard gaze, and as he continued to swing the empty cup of coffee between his fingers. Benedict immediately understood his answer.

"No way..." Ricky muttered, resigned and suddenly crestfallen. He didn't want to play the victim, much less in front of an unknown Londoner, even if this was a rocker like him.

"come on, friend! Cheer up! I'll buy you something to eat! do you want a sandwich? A good pasta carbonara? both of them?" Benedict asked with encouragement "Hey, waitress, bring me two of those pastas, please, two coffees too, with a lot of sugar, and some biscuits" he ordered the girl who was serving.

Ricky didn't have time to answer that because the waitress had already written down Benedict's order, plus he was dizzy and really hungry.

"Haha thanks friend. You don't have to bother...much less a complete stranger and also a foreigner like me," Ricky said at last, with a nervous giggle. Then he felt Benedict give him another camaraderie pat on the back.

"Ha, don't worry, you're a rocker in a bad situation, I'm a rocker too. "Ton-Up boys" like us should always help each other," said Benedict, smiling candidly.

"Ha, I don't know how I'll be able to pay you back," Ricky said, smiling a little more.

"Don't worry about that trifle now." Better tell me what led you to this situation… maybe I could help you get out of it," said Benedict.

"Ah… it's a long story, but… I'll tell you…"

At that moment the waitress returned with his order. Ricky didn't say it, but just seeing that pasta served excited him a lot, he was more than impatient to devour it.

"Thank you very much, miss," Benedict said, paying the bill. By the time he turned around, Ricky was already eating the pasta voraciously. Benedict smiled again.

"Okay, let's first enjoy this delicious pasta while listening to another good song on the jukebox in the background," Benedict said, and got up from his seat to put another coin in the jukebox.

"Oh! I love that theme!" Ricky exclaimed with encouragement when the song _"The Hippy Hippy Shake"_ began to play, he had almost finished his pasta in almost an instant. Eating it had made him recover quite a bit.

Benedict smiled again, noticing that in just a moment there was a notable improvement in the foreign rocker's face.

……..

At the same time, Don Martin was in his vinyl store, with the same routine as always, without anything spectacular happening, like any other day. However, he couldn't forget that something unexpected and exciting had happened the night before. He could not forget the incident that had occurred with the handsome stranger, the foreign rocker who had entered his store and with whom he had unexpectedly kissed twice. After enjoying his _acid trip_ , the night before, after the attractive rocker had escaped, he had been thinking about him the whole time, reminiscing over and over the pleasant sensation of having kissed him, although both kisses had been snatched and momentary. The rocker had impacted him from the first moment he had set foot inside his store, even more since their gazes had met head-on, and although a rocker had to be a natural rival to a mod like him, he just couldn’t deny.

"The son of a bitch really is so fucking handsome…" he said over and over to himself as he remembered how attractive this Ricky from Durham was. Definitely his mind was completely invaded by the memory of that damn rocker, and although he did not admit it was almost becoming an obsession for him, because throughout the day he was looking again and again towards the main entrance of his store like waiting for the handsome rocker to come back in at any moment.

But what would he say to him as soon as he entered, if that happened? Maybe he would try to provoke him again, to continue an expected confrontation between a rocker and a mod and also to have a pretext to kiss him again.

Don wasn't sure if the rocker would decide to go back to his shop, but he knew there was a great chance that would happen, since, in fact, he was now holding his wallet. The night before, when trying to reach him, when Ricky had decided to flee with his motorcycle, and although the effects of LSD had already begun to affect his system by that time, Don Martin could notice how Ricky had accidentally dropped his wallet on the asphalt.

"So, Richard Deeming from Durham…" Don said as he read the credentials that had been inside the handsome rocker's wallet. He could hardly stop reading them over and over again, and looking at his photograph where he looked just as attractive as in person, even if it was black and white and of poor quality. He was able to read his data, such as his age, confirming what he had already thought before, that the rocker was the same age as him. However, the only bad thing was that the credentials only described his home address in Durham, and that there was not a single piece of information about his stay in London, except for some movie tickets and some purchases he had recently made. With that, he could at least realize that surely Ricky was living in North London, not far from there. They would certainly have to meet again one day.

"You have to come get your damn wallet," Don said to himself, smirking.

However, the days passed and the attractive rocker did not appear there again. Don was getting impatient and even if he didn't admit it, he was also losing hope a bit. The rivalry between a rocker and a mod was something innate, and especially for a homosexual mod like him, surely that's why the foreign Ricky would not want to see him again and not even go near it. However, there could always be a chance that they would meet again one day, especially if they were in the same area north of town, near Camden.

The truth was that Ricky had no recollection and no idea where the Don’s records store was located, being new to London, drugged, and in the middle of the night that time he had not noticed the address. Perhaps he could only vaguely recall that it was in the Camden area. In addition, he had no idea or suspected that his wallet might have been misplaced in precisely that place.

But fate was written and they both had to meet again.

Thanks to Benedict, Ricky had been able to recover from his discomfort that morning, and thanks to him he had been able to eat for a few days. Ricky was now extremely grateful to the kindly London rocker he had just met and from whom he had discovered not long after that Benedict was, in fact, the leader of his own motorcycle gang, with a prestigious renown in the rocker circle that became met in the famous Ace Cafe. Certainly, Ricky had left Durham and arrived in London with the dream and purpose not only to start a new chapter in his life, but above all to be part of a motorcycle gang again, even if at first he could not have the immediate chance to become the leader, so for now he really wished he could join his now good friend Benedict's motorcycle gang. And precisely Benedict gave him the opportunity almost immediately to become, therefore, his prospect.

But also, now it was time to find a new way to earn a living, find any job, even temporary, because his savings had run out, and the few pounds he had saved had been lost in his wallet. Now he only had the small house that had been inherited but soon he would have to pay the bills for electricity and so on. In addition, he wanted to be able to continue maintaining his motorcycle well and with a full tank of fuel, and above all, he needed to eat.

Although he initially went to look for work in a motorcycle repair shop, where he performed better, he was not lucky to find something. He had begun to despair, and, although Benedict had helped him several times during that period and without asking for anything in return, Ricky did not want to continue bothering him. He needed to find a job now.

"Ha, even if I found my wallet, the few pounds that were stored there would not be of much use to me, which was surely already spent by whoever found it," Ricky said as he walked through the streets of Camden Town. At one point he approached a wall where some papers were stuck, which simply looked like any propaganda, perhaps to promote an event.

"Nah, I'm in no condition to attend any event, first I must find a damn way to earn a living to eat," he said, "or I will have to start selling the few things I brought with me," he continued reading those advertisements posted, several were indeed inviting to events that piqued his interest, such as one where _rock n 'roll_ would be played and danced in a pub, which he really wanted to attend. But suddenly in the midst of all those advertisements, he noticed a small and simple advertisement with a very small font that said "help required" followed by a description of the place, which was described as a music store, and the address of this.

Ricky's gaze lit up somewhat as he read the ad and he ripped it off the wall. He read the address again and decided to look it up immediately.

It took more than an hour for him to find the address, he certainly had to get used to the fact that London was a big and busy city, nothing compared to his small hometown of Durham.

But he had finally made it to the place, which he recognized immediately when he read Don’s records on the marquee. His smile widened when he realized that it was the same place of the blond queer mod of that time, although it looked different in the daylight compared to the darkness of that night, but he thought that it must definitely be the same store.

"Ha, London is big, but I don't think there are many shops with the same name," he said to himself. That night of the incident, Ricky had been beginning to experience the effects of marijuana the moment he first encountered said store, but he hadn't been too intoxicated that he didn't remember the name of the place. Besides, smoking weed was not the same as drinking alcohol, it didn't make him lose his memory.

Without further ado, excited he decided to enter the place again, but this time to ask for that job as assistant.

He didn't admit it, but his heart was racing with the excitement of meeting that mod cretin again, he thought that maybe he just wanted to screw him again, but he also thought that it was best to take everything at peace with him and even apologize for kissing him, because he really needed the damn job now.

Ricky entered the place, rang the bell, but when he did not receive an answer, he decided to go down the stairs, looking for the presence of the moody owner of the place, but the first thing he saw was a tall man with a slightly overweight back, who seemed to be sorting the vinyls out of a box.

"Hey...sorry..." Ricky pronounced, and the man turned to see him when he noticed his presence. It seemed that he hadn't heard when Ricky had rung the bell.

"Ah hello! How can I help you, Elvis? " Said the man, who was something comical to look at. Ricky immediately thought that this guy was the classic comedian of any group, and he had to hold back laughing not just because the guy had called him Elvis but because of the funny way he had said it.

"Oh, I came for the job ad…" Ricky said, ad in hand.

The guy from the place took the ad and read it.

"Ah yes, we need help. You can start by arranging those boxes, sort them by genre and artist" indicated the strange guy, without further ado. He was a funny guy, but he was serious.

Ricky was extremely surprised because the strange guy had admitted him like that immediately, without asking him anything, not his information or even his name. The guy seemed too confident, and everything about him was definitely laughable. But Ricky decided to accept what he was telling him, even if he knew that surely the guy was just an employee and not the owner, because he well knew that the owner was this Don Martin. Ricky giggled, because the guy was funny, but he seemed to be serious about giving him the job just like that, and decided to play along, at least until Don showed up.

"haha it's OK. I'll start now if you don't have anything else to say…" said Ricky, giggling.

"It’s Dixie... "

"that's your name? "

"That's how they know me, my name is Paul Dean, but call me Dixie, like everyone else, Elvis," said the subject, serious again, but undoubtedly funny. Ricky realized he wasn't a bad guy but maybe he wasn't very smart.

"Haha, I'm not Elvis." My name is Richard Deeming, Paul..." Ricky said this time without resisting to laugh at the way she had called him, and extended his hand to shake it in friendly greeting with Dixie.

"Dixie please, or Dix, if you prefer, Elvis," the guy replied, and shook his hand with Ricky's. The rocker felt the wetness of Dixie's sweaty hand, but said nothing, and only wiped it with his trouser when they finished the greeting.

"Okay I'll start by ordering these boxes then..." Ricky said smiling, and went over to the vinyls.

"Well, in the meantime I'll supervise you," said Dixie, and then she took out a chocolate bar from a drawer near the cash register, which was probably Don's, and without further ado he unwrapped it and started eating it, while "supervising" the new employee. Ricky was amused again by the strange behavior of this Dixie.

After a while, Ricky continued to sort the vinyls. He couldn't help stopping to admire the ones he liked the most, especially the rock n' roll ones, as he chatted for long periods with Dixie, who since he had arrived had been just “supervising” him sitting in Don's main seat, while he ate some other sweets, and even while drinking a bottle of beer.

"So, you like rock n' roll, Elvis..." Dixie said from his place.

"Yes, I'm a rocker...rock n' roll is my life, besides my motorcycle," Ricky answered smiling.

"Oh, I'm a rocker too, of course," Dixie said, his mouth full of colorful jelly beans.

"Haha, really? And where is your leather jacket? What is the model of your motorcycle?" Ricky asked amused, as he observed that obviously Dixie had no idea what it was to be a rocker, much less had the look, because he wore a most common shirt, and of course his brown hair was not even close to be combed in the "quiff" style.

"Oh, well then, I forgot them this morning," Dixie replied, unfazed by Ricky's laugh.

"Haha, you're such a funny guy!" expressed the rocker laughing.

"Hey Elvis, if you're really as good as you say you are, why don't you dance a bit? Let's go! I want to see that hip movement with which you drive the girls crazy on TV and those steps on your toes" Dixie challenged, pretty sure. Ricky laughed again.

"haha what? Without music?" Ricky replied, amused at such a proposal. Although the idea did not displease him at all, in fact, dancing rock n' roll had also been one of his hobbies for a long time since the 1950s.

"There's the record player, come on, _You ain't nothin 'but a hound dog_ ," said Dixie singing that verse, indicating the device, the same one where that time, in fact, Ricky had dared to play his vinyl in the presence of Don to screw it up.

"Haha okay, I'll show you a bit of my rocker spirit," said Ricky, he approached the record player. Soon the music began to play and they both danced and sang the songs for a while to the rhythm of rock n' roll, until just as Elvis Presley's _Hound Dog_ was playing, the familiar voice of someone protesting behind them could be heard.

_~ You ain't nothin 'but a hound dog ~_

Ricky sang while he danced and the music played in the background

_~ Cryin 'all the time_

_Well, you ain't never caught a rabbit_

_And you ain't no friend of mine ~_

Then Ricky turned and found himself face to face with the grumpy newcomer. With that act of presence at the right time, it had almost seemed as if Ricky had dedicated that song to the mod jerk.

_~ When they said you was high-classed_

_Well, that was just a lie ~_

"What the hell is happening here?" snapped the voice of the newcomer, who was none other than Don Martin, the owner of the store.

Ricky was internally moved by the appearance of the mod cretin, although he had not imagined that their reunion would happen in a situation like that, but he was definitely amused that he had arisen in this situation, while he sang a song that, he thought, fit him perfectly.

As he folded his arms, Don gave a long sigh, a product of both his anger at the self-confidence of his clumsy and confident employee Dixie and the foreign rocker, but also the great excitement of seeing him again. Ricky was undoubtedly so damn handsome, and without a doubt despite the awkward moment he had caused the same impact on him as that first time he had walked into his store. Don felt a strange emotion assault inside his chest and slide pleasantly down his torso until it reached his stomach, like a pleasant sensation of butterflies fluttering inside. He was angry at the audacity of them using his device without his permission in his absence, probably caused by the clumsy Dixie, and because his temper was certainly always that way, but at the same time he was extremely excited because at last the handsome rocker he had met and kissed the other night was in his store again.

"Ahh, Don!" Dixie exclaimed and awkwardly tried to clean up the sweet wrappers and beer cans on the desk near the cash register.

Ricky just stopped in the same place, as he watched as Don ran to quickly turn off the record player.

"Haha, we meet again, _fairy boy_ ," Ricky said boldly, with a cheeky smile. It amused him a lot to see the blond mod so grumpy, that he then walked over again and stood in front of him, still grumbling. But still snorting with anger, their gazes met again, despite the difference in height and despite the fact that Don once again covered his eyes under his round fashionable glasses, this time tinted blue.

That reunion in front of them greatly moved them both, neither could admit that both felt their hearts almost go out. And Don just crossed his arms, ready to claim him, while Ricky smiled cynically at him.

"What the hell are you doing here again?" the blond asked, with an annoyed expression.

"Ah, I came for…" Ricky said, but before he finished, he was interrupted by the moody mod.

"Are you coming for your stupid wallet? Or do you come just to bother? Or are you coming to kiss me again…?" the blond snapped.

"Ah, I employed him, Don," Dixie interrupted.

"what?" Don was getting more exasperated.

"Yeah, I gave him the job this morning," Dixie explained cheekily.

"Whaaat? " the blond got angrier.

"That's right, I came for the job ad..." Ricky added, calm but trying to resist laughing.

"But what...but what the fuc...?!" Don Martin could hardly contain his irritation.

"Elvis has been working all morning, Don, I supervised him" explained Dixie.

"H-how the hell...?!

"Indeed, so, now you will have to pay me for the hours I already worked here," Ricky said, smiling amused and bold, almost in a seductive tone.

"Pfft" Don was already so grumpy that he couldn't answer right away, clenched his fists, and snorted some more.

Dixie would have to give a very good explanation to all this, and would also have to see how he got involved with the damn attractive rocker Ricky from now on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh I finally got to have a new chapter ready in this sexy fic of this exciting forbidden and complicated relationship in England in the 60s! I hope you enjoyed it! ;D  
> I apologize if I made mistakes! I always try my best! >.<  
> I hope to be able to publish the next chapter very soon, I don't know if the rest of 2020 is enough for me to update it, I sincerely don’t think so, because the year is almost over, plus I have other fics to update as well as other things to do inspired by these two (as always), But I'm definitely going to upload the next chapter very soon! Ahh, I want you to see what I have in mind for these two and how their relationship will be from now on, also that in the next chapter more of Benedict's motorcycle gang will begin to be shown and how Ricky will have to pass certain tests to be accepted, in addition to other messes involving Don Martin! Until Ricky forms his own new motorcycle gang!  
> Ahhh I'm dying to upload the next chapter!  
> Thank you very much for reading and for all the support! owó)/


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